


Cruel Temptations

by LadyMoonshadow



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hints of bromance, Relationship AU, Romance, Student/Teacher, mature content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9244115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMoonshadow/pseuds/LadyMoonshadow
Summary: Remy LeBeau had never expected to be a teacher, but he enjoyed his students, their minds, attitudes, thoughts, and ideas. They made him laugh, made him think, drove him crazy, but never had one made him want. Before her.Bronwyn St. Vincent, new student, bad ass, self proclaimed outcast. She didn't want school, didn't want friends, but she wanted Remy and she was determined to have him, whether he accepted that or not.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheyCalledHerCarrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyCalledHerCarrie/gifts).



> The Gambit and Wolverine used in this fic are based on rp characters from a different site. I do not own any of the X-men characters used in this story. All OCs are used with permission from their creators. Fic is for entertainment purposes only.

“It’s a doodle, Remy,” Kitty said, waving the piece of notebook paper with a poorly drawn stick figure on it, “how is it art?”  
  
Remy LeBeau, otherwise called Gambit, leaned back against the front of his desk and grinned. In general, his classes were more relaxed than anyone else’s. Storm’s students referred to her as Ms. Monroe, he didn’t require the formality. He was definitely more fun than Scott ‘drill sergeant’ Summers, and unlike the classes Logan taught, no one was overly afraid of him.  
  
When he’d first started a career as a Thief at sixteen, he never would have imagined that he would be setting those skills aside to teach. Sometimes when he was alone, he would burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all, but he found as he settled into life at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, that he liked it. Sure he wasn’t much older than some of the students, and sometimes they had a tendency to smart off and he had to whack them upside the head-a practice the rest of his teammates weren’t fond of-but over all, it wasn’t bad.  
  
He’d made friends here, he could be useful here, maybe not as the Master Thief he’d been, but there was satisfaction in teaching young mutants, and protecting people as a member of the X-Men. Most days he even liked his classes. There were a couple fighting classes, one co-taught with Wolverine, his current morning art class, and later in the semester, though no one knew yet aside from himself and the Professor, a sex-Ed class.  
  
That one made him snicker a little. Apparently, as most of the students were reaching puberty, Professor Xavier found it an essential part of their educational needs. Remy didn’t think a bunch of teenagers really needed sex-Ed, he was sure they had the gist of it themselves, but if that’s what the Professor wanted, he’d get it.  
  
At the moment, he was caught up in Kitty’s disgust with Bobby’s latest attempt at an art project. When Remy had taken on the class, he’d intended to do art appreciation, art theory, and somehow had gotten roped into letting the kids actually do art work. He couldn’t do art to save his life, but as part of the job description, he’d encouraged the kids through various individual and group projects. Some of them had talent, and some, like Bobby, had none at all.  
  
“Is it aesthetically pleasin’?” He asked her, unable to completely hold in the laugh at her derisive look.  
  
“No! It’s a stick figure! With wavy lines for hair! It looks like Bobby if he stuck his finger in an outlet.”  
  
Remy turned his attention to Bobby and repeated the question, “Is it aesthetically pleasin’ ta you Bobby?”  
  
“Hell yeah it is!” Iceman grinned, snatching the paper back from Kitty. He wasn’t worried about his language so much in here, it was Remy. Now if it was Scott, that would be something else, but Remy didn’t mind so much as long as they were behaving themselves. He scrawled his name messily on top of the paper and sat back with a satisfied nod. “I like it. She even knew it was me and everything.”  
  
“There ya go,” Remy said to Kitty, with a sympathetic smile. “It’s art.”  
  
“But it’s a stick figure!” She protested. “This is art.” She held up the picture she’d drawn of the stained glass window from Beauty and the Beast, her current movie obsession. “How is it right that he gets to turn that thing in for a grade when some of use went to a lot of trouble on ours?”  
  
It was actually pretty good, Remy thought as he looked her picture over, much better than the stick figure in any case; at least you could tell what it was. “Art, by definition, is somethin’ pleasin’ ta de senses. Drawin’s, paintin’s, music, even literature can be classified as art, so long as it pleases someone.”  
  
“Don’t-” At the gleam in Bobby’s eye, Remy held up a hand to ward off what he knew was coming. There had been several, sometimes heated, discussions lately about how porn could be considered a form of art.  
  
Remy found it hilarious. Even the girls had gotten involved, mostly to call the boys pigs, but still. They were thinking, making some pretty valid points on both sides. Remy had been content to stand at the front and laugh to himself so long as the primary discussion was about the artistic nature of it. Until Storm had come in unannounced one day and Remy had gotten his first ever trip to the Headmaster’s office to discuss appropriate and inappropriate topics of discussion in a classroom.  
  
He’d taken the reprimand with good humor, and had promised to keep the topics at a pg rating unless otherwise approved in advance. He would need that approval in a few weeks when they got to the chapter on nudity in the art world, or maybe he would skip that chapter altogether, just to be safe.  
  
“Each project’s graded individually chere, we already gone over dis. If dat’s de best effort he can put in, he can’t expect ta get above…we’ll say a C.”  
  
“A C!? It’s a stick figure!”  
  
“What do you expect,” came a snort from the back of the room, “When they’ve got a thief teaching a class about art. Who thought that one up?”  
  
“The Professor,” Remy put in mildly, turning his attention to a girl in the back of the room. A young woman really, too old in most cases to be taking classes to begin with, but that wasn’t for him to decide.  
  
Bronwyn St.Vincent, a telekinetic among other things, and one of the mansion’s top hard asses. If there was a sarcastic remark or insult to be made, you could bet she would be the one to say it. At a little over five feet, she had bright red hair that had to come from the aid of a bottle, a tattoo that covered most of her right side, any number of piercings she wasn’t shy about discussing, and a ‘kiss my ass’ attitude the size of Texas.  
  
Normally he would have found a bit of camaraderie in the attitude and he knew from his fighting classes that she could hold her own in a fight. He would have liked her, but that mouth made her a difficult person to like. She wasn’t like that with everyone, but from the first time they’d met she’d made her opinion of him clear, and he personally wasn’t one to try to befriend someone that accused him of sleeping with his students.  
  
“If ya gotta problem wit’ dat, ya can take it up wit’ him. Now, de projects are due tomorrow, along wit’ a short paper, we’ll say two pages, on your favorite form of art an why. It can be anythin’, typical art, music, whatever, but not porn,” he said for Bobby’s benefit and got snickers from all over the class. “I want dat tomorrow as well. We get through dat wit’ no trouble, an we’ll do somethin’ fun on Friday involvin’ paint an lots a balloons in honor of Abstract Art Day.”  
  
“Get outta here,” he grinned as the bell rang, “give Stormy my best.” He moved to relative safety behind his desk as they stampeded from the room. Falling down into his desk chair, he rubbed at his temples and dropped his head against the back of his chair.  
  
At least that was over. If he had to explain one more time about the grading scale for art projects, he might just have to blow them all up. The projects, not the kids. He felt a tingle along his skin and opened his eyes to see Bronwyn lounging against one of the desks in the front row, watching him. “Somethin’ I can do for ya Petite?”  
  
She wanted to bristle every time he called her that. Him, Logan, Scott, they all treated her like a kid, calling her one in their different variations. She wasn’t a kid dammit. She was only a little younger than Remy, and he was considered a teacher…  
  
Anger wouldn’t get her anywhere with him, just one more thing that irritated her about him. She wanted a good, knock down fight with him where just maybe she could get her hands on all that muscle she knew was hidden so casually behind his classroom uniform of jeans and a t-shirt, but he refused to cooperate. He simply refused to fight with her, so she’d found other ways to push his buttons.  
  
She’d learned about him from Storm, from Logan, a few of her older classmates that were almost X-Men themselves and she thought she had a pretty good strategy. So she hit him where she knew it would sting, mocking his work, his accent, that thing he wore in fighting class that made it hard not to stare at his ass. That was, until she stopped hiding the fact that she was staring at him. If words wouldn’t work, there were other ways.  
  
She made it a point to let him know she watched him. She touched him more than was strictly necessary when they spared in class, and she always made sure she was in his view when she stretched before and after training. She knew he watched her, she could feel it, and she knew the teasing made him angry. It had started out as fun, a way to get under his skin, but the longer it went on, the more she wanted to feel his hands on her.  
  
He had quite the reputation around the school. He’s disappear sometimes on Friday nights and not get back til really late, or not get back until Sunday night. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what he was doing when he came home smelling like perfume and had bites and scratches on his neck and arms that he didn’t even bother trying to hide.  
  
It was so damn frustrating, how more obvious could she make it? She wanted him, she was more than willing, legally old enough, but he wouldn’t see her as a woman, no matter how skimpy an outfit she wore with him in mind.  
  
Remy could feel her anger, her irritation with him and that was fine, it was certainly better than the lust that pumped out of her like heat from a furnace. The anger he could deal with and he could certainly warrant a bit of irritation, he was very misunderstood after all, but he had no business thinking about her as anything but a student.  
  
Especially not her.  
  
So he was holding a grudge, maybe it was petty, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of answering in kind only to have her slap him back with that little smirk she got when she thought she was right. He didn’t mess with his students, he didn’t touch kids, no matter how grown up they thought they were.  
  
Standing, he collected his things, barely sparing her a second glance. If she wasn’t going to talk to him, he wasn’t going to waste time in awkward silence. He had better things to do than sit here an let her bait him. “You’re gonna be late for your next class if ya don’t get a move on.”  
  
“You doing anything tonight?” She asked, shifting in a way that would make her pants slide just a little, enough to catch on her hips and reveal a bit of skin between her shirt and pants.  
  
“Yeah, gradin’ papers. De joys a bein’ a teacher,” he rolled his eyes. “Make sure ya have your stuff for class tomorrow yeah? You been late turnin’ in your last couple assignments. I won’t take ‘em late again.”  
  
Leaving her standing, he left his classroom, telling himself not to rush. He would get to his room in just a few minutes. Those few tantalizing inches of flesh seemed to sear in his brain, and he shook his head angrily. He was going to need a cold shower and then he needed to have a very serious talk about this.


	2. Chapter Two

“What’s eatin’ ya Gumbo?” The Canadian nudged his taller counterpart while they stood to the side, letting their class take a few passes at each other. It was a ‘no powers’ day so he wasn’t too concerned about taking his eyes off of them. Few of them were real fighters, and less than that could hit with any kind of accuracy. They were a work in progress that he decided to ignore in favor of pestering answers out of his scowling friend.  
  
 As a general rule, Remy didn’t scowl. When there was a problem, that damn poker face went on and then who knew what he was thinking. Logan knew him better than anyone but Storm, knew his moods and his masks, knew how to read his body language when he was pissed enough to give anything away. And he was pissed.  
  
Another oddity. Normally Logan could count on one hand the things that genuinely pissed off the Cajun. There was Scott, Warren, old Country music, poorly trained street thieves, and bad food. The first two were understandable, the music was debatable as he sometimes liked Country music, and he was right there with him on the food, even though they had very different tastes in that as well. The thief thing though…that was a hilarious thing to witness.  
  
He’d seen Remy snag a pickpocket with more disgust than the time Bobby had bumped into Remy and spilled Chinese takeout all over one of those designer suits he liked so much. That had been a riot too, but there was something fascinatingly wrong about watching Remy give a kid a quick shake, complain about kids having no decent role models, and then proceed to correct the boy’s technique.  
  
The things you learned about a person on the way to the local bar… But that wasn’t the point. Logan didn’t have many friends, so he didn’t like it when one of them was seriously upset. He knew he was upset as Remy hadn’t yet spouted whatever was on his mind. Guy was a drama queen at times; if it was nothing, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it to himself, so this had to be a bit more than nothing.  
  
A little annoyed himself at being ignored, Logan planted an elbow in Remy’s side hard enough to make him grunt, and tried again, “Spill it Rem. What’s wrong?”  
  
Remy had gotten that cold shower, and had thrown a shoe across the room when he remembered that he had another class that afternoon. There would be no grading papers, no hiding out in his room until he felt steadier. He would have to get dressed and go down to that goddamn room or there would be hell to pay for leaving Logan to deal with them alone. Not that he couldn’t handle it, but it was the principle of the thing. So Remy had gotten dressed in his workout gear and went downstairs for his fighting classes.  
  
He liked the fighting classes, with and without Logan. He liked teaching the kids to defend themselves, to expand on their powers. He did a separate, after school course for the girls where he demonstrated self defense techniques. He’d never felt weird about that, until Bronwyn had arrived with her mouth, and then he’d had Storm come in with him. With the two of them, the Professor had made it mandatory that girls over a certain age had to attend twice a week. It was good, it was positive, and damn her if she wasn’t ruining everything for him.  
  
He liked his life, he liked his job, and he didn’t need her coming in and flaunting herself, getting him all worked up. She was making him seriously consider leaving the mansion, and that just pissed him off. This was the first home he’d had in a very long time, but he would walk away from it to get away from her. She was a kid, she didn’t know what she was asking, and that left him to be the responsible one.  
  
But he was weakening.  
  
No matter how hard he tried, how often he told himself not to look at her, he couldn’t seem to help himself. His eyes just always found her. Today she was wearing thin pants that sat low on her hips and sports bra. It wasn’t so different than what she normally wore, except recently her outfits had been getting shorter, and tighter, and all too distracting even when you added in the fishnet she wore under every damn thing she owned. You’d think fishnet would take away from her looks, but it didn’t. It added a bit of mystery that had him wondering just what the hell she had to hide.  
  
She was beautiful, even he couldn’t deny that, and it was true that he loved to watch her fight, but there was nothing sexual about that. She’d had training, she was good at it, and he watched her with the appreciation one fighter would give to another, but even that felt wrong now. He felt like an old man peeping through a teenager’s window.  
  
He swore heatedly when Logan stomped on his foot to get his attention, and glared at him, his foul mood increasing by the second. “I heard you dammit, but I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it. You’re supposed ta be beatin’ on dem, not me.”  
  
“Since when do you not want to talk?” Logan asked, keeping an amused smirk on his face in spite of his increasing worry. He could feel Remy’s bad mood and that meant he was slipping. “I can hardly get you to shut up most the time,” he said lightly, “talk to me Rem.”  
  
“I can’t Logan…not here.” He jerked his head at the class and Logan glanced up, his eyes zeroing in on the green eyes watching them intently, watching Remy rather.  
  
Well that explained that.  
  
 Logan had known Bronwyn for a while now; this was actually her second go round at the school. She’d left the first time after only staying a few months, and had gotten herself into some trouble with those bastards at SHIELD. He’d tried to warn her before she’d gone that they weren’t what they seemed, but she had been a kid, stubborn and rebellious and had gone anyway. The woman that was here now was still stubborn, still rebellious, but the child she’d been was long gone. It made him sad for her.  
  
He’d thought it was a little funny, how she and Remy got on in the beginning. Women didn’t hate Remy on sight, that Bronwyn had seemed to do just that had severely offended his friend, that and a shot at Remy’s sense of honor. People didn’t realize he had one, but he did. There were certain things even Remy wouldn’t do and Bronwyn had aimed well with that first blistering comment.  
  
Logan didn’t like to get involved in people’s disputes, but he liked them both, and he hated to see the silent war that had been going on between them. Then it had changed one night after Remy had come home from a night of clubbing.  
  
He’d been on the couch with Bronwyn, watching some stupid movie to put off going to bed when Remy had come in smelling like sex and a brewery. Logan had just sneezed and turned his attention back to the tv; such things weren’t uncommon, especially when Remy and Rogue were in their break up periods, but he’d noted a change in Bronwyn and that had been more interesting than Terminator.  
  
That’s when she’d started getting a crush on the Cajun. He should have dissuaded her, warned her away, but it was so damn funny. Now Logan was kicking himself for not doing something sooner. Maybe she was just teasing him, maybe she wasn’t, but whatever was going on, it was bothering Remy badly.  
  
“We’re goin’ out tonight, gettin’ a few beers and you can rant.” Logan said at last, slapping Remy on the back, “you’ll feel better. And I’ll talk you out of doing something stupid, like runnin’ away.”  
  
“Or killin’ her,” Remy growled softly, his hand clenching around the clipboard he held.  
  
“You wouldn’t kill a kid,” Logan sighed, “but you’d leave. It really that bad?”  
  
“You got no idea.” Remy passed him the clipboard. “I can’t do dis no more right now, desole. I’ll meet ya at de bar tonight mon ami.”  
  
Frowning, Logan turned back to the kids and saw that he hadn’t been the only one to watch Remy leave. He met Bronwyn’s eye and lifted an eyebrow in a silent question. What the hell was she doing that could ruffle Remy’s feathers like that? The man was a Casanova, he’d never had a problem with women. This wasn’t even the first time a kid had developed a crush on him, but he’d never taken it this seriously before.  
  
Bronwyn’s shrug and smirk made him growl softly and he tapped his pen in a harsh rhythm against the clipboard. He hadn’t missed the things she’d been doing recently, always finding a way to be on Remy side of the room, being right there when they had them exercise first thing, where Remy wouldn’t be able to miss her. Kid was playing a dangerous game. Unless…  
  
Oh shit.  
  
His eyebrows winged up and he turned to look at the door Remy had gone through. He liked her. That’s what was giving him the trouble. It wasn’t her, it was him. Well fuck. That was definitely going to complicate things.  
  


~*~ 

  
Remy didn’t want beer, it was far too tame for the mood he was in. He’d ordered his favorite Bourbon and had taken the bottle along with him to his usual table in the far corner. He came here with Logan a lot to drink, play pool, and just relax. Sometimes others came with them, and though he always enjoyed getting Scott plastered, he wasn’t in the mood for that tonight. He wasn’t really in the mood for Logan and that worried him.  
  
Remy was a people person, he liked their noise, their moods, their eccentricities. He liked to sit in his corner booth and watch them play out their individual scenes like it was all part of some great big play. It made him feel a part of something, even when he wasn’t inclined to press himself into the fold. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted to be alone, to brood, to sulk, to contemplate, but knowing Logan, that wasn’t at all what he had in mind.  
  
Drinking straight from the bottle, Remy tried to ignore the music pumping from the jukebox that sounded like some poor injured animal. It made him grit his teeth in annoyance, but like the horrible décor and the influx of leather clad biker wannabes, bad music was a tradition here. He reminded himself, every time he found himself wondering why in the world he kept coming here, that at least the alcohol was decent, and for a bar, they had pretty good food.  
  
When Logan finally slid into the booth with a bottle of beer, Remy was about ready to put the jukebox out of his misery. He already had a card in his hand and his fingers were just itching to give it that little nudge that would end with a pretty flash and a boom.  
  
“Easy Gumbo,” Logan chuckled, “even if you can get another one, Harry won’t be happy if you blow it up.” He thought back to the last machine that had stood over by the bar and its untimely demise the last time Remy had come in feeling like shit. This one was definitely an improvement. “Thing’s a classic. How did you find it?”  
  
He didn’t question how Logan knew what he was thinking, sure his look of hatred was too marked to be mistaken. “I know a guy,” he mumbled, still glaring at the hated machine. “Can’t dey play somethin’ from dis century? Jesus Christ-”  
  
“There’s nothin’ wrong with this song.”  
  
“Sounds like someone kicked a po’ lil beagle dog an he’s dyin’… Maybe dat’s how de music was in your day mon frère, but Remy likes his music a lil more modern.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Choosing to overlook the swipe at his age, Logan propped his feet up on a chair on the other side of the booth, completely at home. “And what about Remy’s taste in women?”  
  
Just like that, the humor died on his tongue and Remy washed down the bitter taste with a long pull from the bottle. “I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it Logan.”  
  
“Look Rem, so ya like the girl. It’s not the end of the world.”  
  
“I don’t like her!” He protested, his hand jerking a little on the bottle. “She’s rude, arrogant, wit’ dat smug lil attitude a hers. She’s-”  
  
“Like you.” Logan put in, taking a drink of his own and watching his friend closely. “Only a girl.”  
  
“She ain’t like me,” Remy said, clearly offended. “I ain’t like dat.”  
  
“You know you’re arrogant, you’re tied with me for the King of Fuck Off, although I still say I got you beat,  and you layer your rude under that Southern charm to confuse people. Why do you think you two butt heads all the time?”  
  
“We do too, ya sayin’ I’m like you?”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Logan smirked, “the pain in the ass little brother I never wanted. You’re allowed to be attracted to her Remy.”  
  
“No. I’m not. I’m not!” He persisted, annoyed with Logan’s one eyebrow look. “She’s my student. She’s a kid.”  
  
“Lemme stop ya right there.” Logan shifted toward him, slinging an arm over the back of the booth, “She’s not a kid. She hasn’t been for a while now. She’s legal.”  
  
“Age’s jus’ a goddamn number!”  
  
“You’re absolutely right,” he nodded, “and numerically, she’s legal. She’s been through some shit Rems, just like the rest of us. That kid hasn’t been a kid for…a while now.”  
  
“We all been through shit Logan. All a us, but de fact is, I ain’t comfortable lookin’ at her an I sure as hell don’t like de way she’s been lookin’ at me.”  
  
“Callin’ bullshit,” Logan grinned. “If you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t be so upset. You’ve dealt with schoolgirl crushes before, but this one scares you. Because you like her.”  
  
“I got no business likin’ her Logan.” Defeated, Remy dropped his forehead against the table with a thud. “I’ve never looked at one a dem dis way. It’s wrong…”  
  
“What’s wrong about it?”  
  
“I’m her goddamn teacher! Dere are rules. I can’t jus’ go takin’ advantage a some kid cause she’s got it in her mind she wants ta see me naked. Fuck, Logan…you know I don’t play like dat.”  
  
“Who says ya gotta play Remy?” Feeling for his friend, Logan laid a hand on his shoulder. He never got used to this sort of thing, offering comfort to someone. He wasn’t good at it. One of the reasons he and Remy got along so well was because they handled their own shit, and because they knew they could lean on each other if they had to. Just generally, the leaning was just done in silence.  
  
“She’s an adult.”  
  
“Dere’s a difference ‘tween bein’ of age an bein’ an adult-”  
  
“Right again,” Logan agreed, giving his shoulder a little squeeze, “but trust me when I tell you she’s been through some adult level shit. Maybe not on the level you have, definitely not on the level I have.”  
  
“Don’ think de elderly’ve been through what you have mon frère.”  
  
If he could think enough to insult him, he was beginning to feel better. That was good. He could handle a sulky Remy, but a genuinely sad one threw him off balance. He was supposed to be the broody one and Remy was supposed to make him feel better. That’s the way these things worked.  
  
“My point is that, even though she’s young, she can handle herself as an adult. I think you should take that into consideration.”  
  
“You actually want me to sleep with her?” Remy lifted his head to stare at him, “That’s your vote?”  
  
“I don’t get a vote. I don’t give a damn who you sleep with so long as ya keep it down. It’s bad enough I have to smell it, but I don’t want to hear it. It’s what you want that matters Rem. Do you wanna sleep with her?”  
  
“I shouldn’t want it Logan.” He gave him a pained look and yanked his hands viciously through his hair, “can ya understand why I’m havin’ such a hard time wit’ dis?”  
  
Sighing softly, Logan scooted over in the booth until his shoulder bumped Remy’s. He barely remembered growing up, but he was sure it hadn’t been this complicated. Age hadn’t mattered so much back then. It wasn’t uncommon at all to see a young girl with an older man, but times had changed and so drastically that a year or two difference had the potential to become a wall between a couple.  
  
He understood that it wasn’t just Bronwyn’s age bothering Remy, but the situation. Knowing Remy like he did, he knew he would be agonizing over the integrity of it all, about his responsibility to someone in his care. For a man that tried so hard to pretend he was morally bankrupt, Remy believed a lot in responsibility. It made Logan want to hit him.  
  
Why try so hard to pretend you’re something you’re not? Why showcase bad things about yourself when the things you show, you clearly are not? Little more than a kid himself, Remy could be irresponsible, sometimes reckless, but never when it mattered. He wasn’t as bad as he made himself out to be and refused to accept it when someone else saw something good in him.  
  
Not for the first time Logan looked at Remy and saw how young he really was, but then compared to him, anyone was young.  
“You’re not takin’ advantage if she wants you as much as you want her.”  
  
“Don’t gimme dat. You know…” As much as he hated it, he knew Logan knew. He knew everything. All the people he’d been with, past and present. He’d had a weak moment, trembling, sweating, after a nightmare from his childhood and had told Logan everything.  
  
“She don’t know,” Remy muttered. “She don’t know what she’s askin’. She can’t a been wit’ all dat many people before.”  
  
“What? Because you have that means you don’t get to be with someone you like?”  
  
“It means I don’t deserve ta have nothin’ good.”  
  
“Stop,” Logan growled, snatching the Bourbon and shoving it across the table. “I get the position of power shit and you don’t want to use that. Admirable, ridiculous, but good for you with your morals. But this self pity shit ain’t gonna go. Don’t let your issues screw you out of a good thing kid.”  
  
“Kid?” Remy’s head snapped up and he glowered at the older man, “Remy ain’t been a kid in a long time.”  
  
“No, Remy ain’t been a child for a long time.” Logan said, “and that isn’t Remy’s fault. A man don’t let the bastards that hurt him rule him the rest of his life. Let it go Rems.” His voice softened, “they’ll win until you do.”  
  
“It’s not that easy Logan.”  
  
“Don’t I know it.” He slung his arm around Remy’s shoulders and took a swig from the bottle of Bourbon by his elbow. He winced at the flavor and set the bottle back within the Cajun’s reach. After too much emotional shit, they needed something to soften the jagged edges and this definitely counted.  
  
He was one to preach about letting go, moving on from past demons, considering he’d yet to rid himself of his own nightmares. There were things that helped. Meditation, work, training, they shoved it down, but they couldn’t make it go away. Charles and Hank would have suggested therapy and maybe in Remy’s case, Logan would have been on board with that but Remy was as adamant on that as he was. They weren’t going to sit on some couch and sob out their life stories to some shrink.  
  
Neither of them wanted their heads examined that way, to have someone lay out their flaws all neat and tidy and then try to tell them how to fix a lifetime’s worth of pain. Like someone that hadn’t experienced it could be qualified to tell them how to deal with the hell they’d lived through.  
  
Just one more thing that pissed him off, but he couldn’t help but feel that unless he was willing to bend a little, Remy was going to lose something good. Kid hadn’t had enough good to let something slip on by without trying.  
  
“Try,” he pressed softly. “You don’t have to jump right into bed, but just try to get to know her. She’s not half bad once you get passed that wall. You know how it is. I think you’d be good for each other.”  
  
“You tryin’ ta set me up mon frère?”  
  
“Well, ya know. It ain’t like you been doin’ a great job gettin’ your own dates lately.” Logan grinned, glad to see a little sparkle back in those red and black eyes. “Give her a chance Rems. Give yourself a chance. Try.”  
  
Breathing out a laugh, Remy shook his head, not in denial but in amusement. “I agree ta dis, you’re gonna owe me big time.”  
  
“I’ll buy ya a six pack an a new deck of cards…”  
  
Considering, Remy sipped the Bourbon, his eyes narrowed in thought. He knew they weren’t talking about just any deck of cards. Remy had a weakness for cards, not just because they happened to be his missile of choice, but he just liked them. Liked the way they felt in his hands, how easy they were to maneuver, and he couldn’t discount all the poker, and strip poker, he’d played over the years.  
  
He’d never thought of cards as a gift until Logan’s first bribe had turned up a hand painted set featuring characters from Arthurian legend. Remy had fallen in love instantly and Logan knew he’d found something on him. Christmases and birthdays had found him with more, each uniquely different than the last. He didn’t know where Logan found them, but he liked them too much to seriously consider telling him no.  
  
Logan sat patiently, watching the wheel’s turn in the thief’s head. He kept the smile off his face, though inside he was smirking; kid could turn down the beer, but he had a hard time resisting those cards. He knew Remy kept his collection in his bedroom vault, a fact that secretly touched him. He’d expected Remy to use them like any other cards, maybe not with the intention of blowing them up, but the kid played a lot of cards. But these he never used. He would take them out on occasion and look at them, gently touching the figures, but he’d yet to ever see them even be shuffled.  
  
He’d never expected them to mean so much to Remy, but the kid had shown up at the mansion with a knapsack and an attitude and other than clothes, he hadn’t accumulated all that much personal stuff in the years he’d been there. Like he was still waiting to run…  
  
Well he wasn’t running anywhere, not if Logan had anything to say about it. Drinking buddies were hard to come by, that was the official story, but truth was, Logan didn’t have enough friends to lose one. He was attached to the moody brat and didn’t want him to go. So he would bribe him with specialty cards.  
  
 He’d gotten a call from the guy who painted them, telling him that another set was ready. It was good timing, and now he had an excuse to give them to Remy. Kid wouldn’t take a present just because without going all suspicious first but Logan liked to give him things just to see his face light up. This set would do that and more. Naked fairies, he mused. How the hell did this guy come up with something like that?  
  
When he’d ordered the first set, he’d put in a long standing order; first dibs on anything similar. The man had been so intrigued with the idea of hand painted playing cards, that Logan had been getting emails for months, but only certain ones made the cut. He almost choked on his coffee when he’d pulled up the fairy file. Oh yeah, Remy would love those.  
  
“What d’ya say Gumbo? I ain’t got all night ta sit here an stare at you.”  
  
Remy flashed him a smile and winked, “Aw, but Remy’s so pretty.”  
  
“Yeah, pretty like a girl. Bet you could get Storm to do your hair. Now c’mon, yes or no?”  
  
“Fine,” Remy said, clanking his bottle to Logan’s to seal the deal, “but dey better be good ones, an none a dat cheap beer either.”  
  
“Done and done.”


	3. Chapter Three

They’d both disappeared right after dinner. Bronwyn knew where they’d gone and had seriously considered following them, but there was no way Logan wouldn’t notice and then she’d get more than a look.  
  
She might have considered it a small victory, knowing she’d bothered Remy enough to have him ditch his classes. If there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he was all about control, yet something she’d done had pushed him too far. She liked it, liked knowing that he would rather leave than face her, but as she watched him, and she always did lately, she saw he wasn’t annoyed, or mad, he was upset and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  
  
She wanted to irritate him. Maybe if he looked at her enough through a sheen of anger, outrage, something more adult than the affable way he looked at the rest of the students, maybe he would finally see her as an adult. An adult, an equal, someone he didn’t have to coddle and look after. She wanted him to look at her the way she’d seen him look at other women when he’d chaperoned field trips.  
  
Field trips, she shuddered. She was too old for this shit. She wanted him to take her to bed, not buy her a damn ice cream cone the way he did Kitty and Jubilee. It was no wonder he thought of her as a child when she was surrounded by them, hanging out with them, dressing like them… She looked down at the bedazzled shirt Kitty had made for her and sneered. Yeah, no wonder he pegged her for jail bait.  
  
That’s why she was doing everything she could to grab his attention, short of just walking up to him and laying it all out, and damn if that wasn’t her only other option at this point. She didn’t want to have to tell him! She wanted him to notice on his own! But then he’d walked out of class and he hadn’t looked angry, he looked…sad. And more tired than she’d ever seen him.  
  
She’d given it a couple days to see what he would do. Remy and Logan had come home and gone upstairs rather than hang out in the rec room like normal. Remy had resumed his regular routine, though he lacked his usual cheerful exuberance. He looked distracted, quietly unhappy, and Bronwyn had felt a little bad that maybe she’d had something to do with this change in him.  
  
She didn’t do guilt as a rule, she didn’t like guilt. When something was over, you did whatever you had to do to push it behind you and never look at it again. Like it didn’t exist… You couldn’t feel guilty over something that didn’t exist. Even if you did happen to get a tattoo representing your most horrific fuckups.  
  
Deal with it and forget it, a motto to live by. That’s why the low grade guilty feeling churning around in her stomach was making her irritable, well that and all this sexual tension.  
  
She was needy. No, fuck that, she was horny and ever since she’d first imagined Remy touching her, pinning her to the bed, the floor, the wall, nothing she did seemed as good. Even when she could get herself off thinking about him, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough and she thought she would go insane from the constant ache of the unfulfilled.  
  
It soured her already naturally low mood considerably. She was pissy with everyone and by the time the weekend rolled around she could hardly stand herself, but what was she supposed to do? Staring at him only made it worse. Spying on him when he worked in the garage, or mowed the lawn, or carried in groceries was torture, but it was the sweetest sort of self infliction she’d ever experienced.  
  
As if she would miss a chance to see him half naked, dripping with sweat, with all that tanned skin and gorgeous hair gleaming in the sun while muscles clenched and strained and- Whoa! That train of thought was definitely not helping.  
  
She sat, her legs crossed tightly, trying to ward off the painful ache in her core from her own overactive imagination, and tried to pretend to listen to Kitty’s homecoming rant. She wasn’t listening, hadn’t been listening since she started, but that was the good thing about Kitty, so long as you looked like you were paying attention, she didn’t need you to really contribute anything to the conversation. Her mind had been free to wander to where ever, or whomever, it pleased. And boy if he didn’t please- No! Not helping.  
  
She shook her head like she was trying to get her brain to disengage from that particular area and focused on the sparkly t-shirt in her hands.  
  
Pink was okay, and God knew she loved black, but a black shirt with sparkly pink rhinestones was going a bit too far in her opinion. And why did they all have to match? It wasn’t like they were going on a group date for homecoming. It wasn’t even a real homecoming! There wasn’t even an actual football team for crying out loud! But nothing doing, Kitty had just had to make t-shirts that blared, X-GIRLS, right across the chest in shiny pink stones.  
  
X-GIRLS… God it was like something from Bobby’s porno collection.  
  
She carefully held up the shirt like it might bite her, or since Kitty had made it, talk her ear off, and turned it around to the back. All right, her name was done in red across the back, she liked that part. At least she’d gotten red. Jubilee had gotten her signature bubblegum pink, and Kitty decided her color of the week was lilac purple…    
  
They were like groupies for some God awful band and there was no way in hell she would ever wear the thing in public. She would have to fake an illness for homecoming. She’d talk to Hank, he would help her out. Maybe drag her off to the Medbay, kicking and screaming, with a high temperature. Yeah, she’d go talk to him about that, take the shirt for reference, right after she had a swim. Between the temperature and her thoughts, she really needed to cool down.  
  
“Sorry,” she said, cutting Kitty off, “but I have to finish a paper for Scott and Storm drafted me to help her with her plants. I’ll see you later.”  
  
She hurried off to her room before Kitty had the chance to respond. Give her time to take a breath, and the girl would talk until she’d forgotten you had to leave. She was really nice, but it was enough to give Bronwyn a headache.  
  
Quickly, she changed into her swimsuit, put on an oversized shirt for a cover, grabbed the glitzy shirt for help with Hank, and hurried down to the pool. No one would be there this time of day. Everyone was doing homework, or those that did want a swim would use the lake outside. Maybe she would have liked the air and the cool water of the lake, but the indoor pool gave her privacy and she much preferred that.  
  
Unless she wanted to wear scuba gear into the pool, and she most certainly did not, there were no bathing suits that could cover all of her scars. She was self conscious about people seeing them, yet she refused to sacrifice cute swimwear, so she’d compromised and had worked out a time table when the indoor pool was deserted. She could wear what she wanted, play her music, and enjoy the water in solitude without the fear of being judged.  
  
Pulling the shirt off, she laid it aside with the homecoming one, plugged her iPod into the room’s stereo system, and jumped into the water. The cool water did wonders for her, temporarily banishing the heat that had been frustrating her for days. She could swim or float, and be completely at peace. She could forget about the ugly pink lines on her skin that proved she’d more than once lost the battle to her personal demons. She didn’t have to think about the knife or bullet wounds that riddled her otherwise pale flesh.  
  
Here, alone, she was free to dream, or think nothing at all. She could be herself. At least as much as she knew who that was. Like everything else in her life, her identity was a work in progress, but this time she felt she was getting a handle on herself.  
  
She was one of the oldest students still taking classes, but that was her own fault. Logan had warned her, but she’d gone and joined SHIELD anyway. They’d wanted her for her tech experience, she was a damn good hacker, and somehow they’d found her. Probably when she hacked into the mainframe at Stark Tower…  They’d agreed to pay her for her services, and she was all too willing to take a shit load of money to play around on the computer.  
  
She hadn’t told them she was a mutant, she was afraid of her powers, she couldn’t control them, and she hadn’t wanted them to judge her for something she couldn’t help.  
  
After an incident on a mission that she didn’t like thinking about, they’d taught her to fight. She would forever hold a grudge against them for that, for so many things, but especially that. Maybe if they’d taken the time to train her beforehand, maybe if they hadn’t run off chasing bad guys and left her alone, defenseless, she wouldn’t have been-  
  
No- She felt a pressure start behind her eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Thinking of that only made things worse. Better to leave it in the past where it belonged.  
  
She’d become a fighter after that, a good one, and had moved quickly through the ranks until she could actually be called a SHIELD Agent. She’d liked that, it made her feel important, special, even if it did put her in the line of fire.  
  
When Loki attacked New York, she’d been right there with them, until she was captured by the enemy.  
  
At first she’d been afraid that he would do to her what he’d done to Hawkeye, but he didn’t. There was no scepter, no mind games for her. He’d just watched her in a way that had given her the chills, and not entirely in a bad way.  
  
Loki. God of Mischief, master manipulator. There was something deeply powerful about him, charismatic, and he manipulated her completely. He’d talked to her kindly at first, gaining her trust, and that’s when it all started.  
  
Looking back, Bronwyn could admit she’d made it easy for him. A lost, lonely girl looking for companionship and she’d found it, or so she’d thought, in a dark, brooding stranger from another world. She’d thought he was misunderstood, like her. That maybe they could help each other. But he’d used her, just like SHIELD had, and once she had helped him escape, he’d just left her to rot in a cell.  
  
It had crushed her to realize she’d been nothing more than a pawn to him, and she’d sworn to herself that she would never leave herself so vulnerable again. As a result she didn’t trust easily and had a hard time making friends. Being in social situations made her edgy, so maintaining friendships was a difficulty she would rather do without. With a few exceptions.  
  
There was Storm, sweet and kind, she was understanding in a way that Bronwyn just didn’t get. She cared about people, and that was…unfathomable. Why would anyone want to care about people? They were rude, dangerous, prejudiced… but Storm just seemed to have a way with people. Bronwyn envied her that, she envied her so many things.  
  
Then there was Hank, Dr. Henry McCoy. She’d adored the big, blue furred mutant on sight, though her joy had been slightly diminished when she realized he was a medical doctor, not a PhD.  
  
 She had reason to hate doctors and scientists. What was the next logical step after finding out someone had abnormal abilities? Strap them to a table and cut them open to see how they worked. Lock them in a room until their sanity had cracked like an egg shell…  
  
That’s what the scientists at SHIELD had done after finding out about her mutation. But Hank wasn’t like that. He was a big, blue kitty, as smart as he was cuddly and once she’d gotten over her phobia, she found she’d enjoyed his company.  
  
It wasn’t the same for Logan, the last of her friends. Logan was intimidating, though God knew it had nothing to do with his height. The man was only a little taller than her, a fact that had made her snicker a little before she’d seen the wicked blades he had in his hands. He wasn’t the most compassionate person in the world, but the way he’d talked to her, no bullshit, she’d come to respect that. She liked him. He looked the other way when she wanted a beer on occasion and sometimes he even shared a cigarette with her, though he preferred cigars.  
  
Logan was the one that had finally gotten through to her. He wasn’t the kind a person would look at and think ‘Gee, that guy’s friend material’ but when your back was to the wall, he was always there.  You could count on Logan, and under everything else, that’s what made her trust him. She hadn’t had a lot of people to count on in her life, but she didn’t for a minute doubt him.  
  
Then there was the fact that he happened to be good friends with Remy. She’d tried to pump him for information in that particular area, but when it came to keeping a confidence, you couldn’t pry Logan’s mouth open with a crow bar. Something else she admired about him, his loyalty, even though it could frustrate the hell out of her.  
  
How was she supposed to learn anything about Remy if his friends, namely Logan and Storm, wouldn’t tell her anything? It’s not like she wanted to delve into the mysteries of his past, though she could admit that was a little intriguing. All she wanted was to find out little things like what music he listened to, his favorite beer, what scent he liked best on a woman, but both of them had remained tight lipped. What information she had came mostly from gossip and that wasn’t at all reliable.  
  
She knew from his classes that he listened to just about anything, and from spying on him, she saw Remy shared Logan’s taste in beer, though after a hard day he preferred something stronger. She knew, thanks to Bobby, that his door was always locked, even when he was home. Maybe she’d had a thought about sneaking into his room wearing a skimpy outfit and waiting on his bed, but Remy’s door was never unlocked.  
  
She smiled and shifted to float on her back, letting those ideas stew a little bit. If they slipped into the realm of fantasy, well, she was alone wasn’t she? There was no one to know that she fantasized about slipping into his room in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with him. Pushing down the silk sheets to run her hands over warm skin. She had a good idea that he slept naked since she’d seen him folding his laundry and there hadn’t been anything resembling pajamas…  
  
A delectable shiver shot down her spine at the images that invoked, and she let her imagination run wild. She was just getting to the good part, her hand had just closed around him, those pretty eyes had shot open, wild with lust, and she felt something hit her in the face.  
  
Startled, she had enough time to let out a shrill squeak before the water closed over her head. Coughing and sputtering, she resurfaced and hauled herself over to the side to hack up a lung and what felt like a gallon of chlorine flavored water.  
  
Wiping streaming eyes, she looked around angrily, spotting Logan lounging in the chair where she’d left her things. The way he was grinning and passing a beach ball back and forth between his hands, she figured he’d thrown something similar at her and looked around for the offending object.  
  
“What the hell? She demanded, levering herself up out of the water. “Why would you do that to me?”  
  
Still grinning, Logan tapped his nose, “pheromones were gettin’ to be a little much. Thought you might need to take a dip, cool off…”  
  
Blushing as deep as her hair, she got to her feet and went to one of the compartments in the wall for a towel. “Don’t you have a class or something?” She grumbled, wrapping the towel over herself like a blanket.  
  
“Nope. Done for the day. Was lookin’ for Remy, figured with the smell comin’ from in here, he might be in here with you.”  
  
“Fuck off,” she snapped, mortified. It was horrible having someone around that could smell when you were horny, particularly when they knew the object of your desire. “Mind your own business.”  
  
Not the least bit offended, Logan just shrugged and laid the ball aside, “Alright, if you’re gonna be that way… I guess you don’t want my help after all.”  
  
“Help? What help?” She asked suspiciously, snatching her shirt away from him and pulling it on.  
  
“You’ve been at Remy for months now and you’re still right where you started. Fact is, it’s starting to piss him off. He’s thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’.”  
  
“What?!” She yelped, reaching out and grabbing Logan’s shoulder. “What do you mean leaving?”  
  
“Leaving, as in, getting the hell away from here and away from you.”  
  
“Away from me,” she pouted, “but why?” Even as she asked, she knew why, but she needed to keep Logan talking. He seemed to be in a helpful mood and maybe he would give her something she could use.  
  
“Probably because you’ve been actin’ like some bitch in heat.” He smirked at her narrowed expression and plowed on, “If you’re gonna act that way, you’ve gotta learn to take what comes with it. You’re bein’ insultin’.”  
  
“Oh come on,” she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve seen the women he goes for, the easy, slutty type.”  
  
“That attitude ain’t gonna work.” Patience, he reminded himself, patience was key. “You want ‘im, but you don’t got a real high opinion of him.”  
  
“I didn’t say that.”  
  
“No, you didn’t say it, but you’ve been throwing it out there clear enough. He likes to keep things loose, not too serious, but that doesn’t mean he’s lookin’ for it at home. You’re not only actin’ like you’re easy, you’re actin’ like he is. Still not insulting?”  
  
“I didn’t think of it like that,” She admitted, “I was just trying to get his attention. I just want him to look at me…”  
  
“He looks, and he sees, and no matter how much it pisses you off, he can’t help but feel responsible for you. That’s just the way he works.” Logan leaned forward and braced his arms on his knees, “I’m gonna help you out Lil Red, cause you’re both too fuckin’ stubborn to work this out on your own.”  
  
Insulted, she lifted her chin, “who says I want your help?”  
  
“Keep goin’ the way you’re goin’ and all you’re gonna do is drive him away, so yeah, you want my help.” It came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t like this feeling, like he was betraying one friend to another. It was for their own good, he defended. If something didn’t give soon, one or both of them would break.  
  
“You’re going to have to push him a little. He’ll fight it, it’s how he’s made, but he wants you too.” He stood up, looking at her, hoping he was doing the right thing. “He’s goin’ out tonight. Some club he always goes to. I tagged his car so you can follow.”  
  
He took her chin gently in his hand and waited until she met his eyes, “you both mean a lot to me Lil Red. Don’t fuck this up.”  
  
She felt like doing flips as he left the room, but she resisted. Logan was helping her, he was all but telling her how to do it. She could kiss him! Except that would be weird.  
  
She grabbed her iPod, and the awful shirt, and hurried back up to her room. Hank could wait. She had to get ready! A smirk tugged at her lips as and locked her door behind her, and threw open her closet, pulling out and quickly rejecting outfit after outfit.  
  
None of her usuals would do. Tonight, she was going for sexy and seductive. She had a Cajun to lure into bed after all and she wanted him to swallow his tongue when he got a look at her.  
  
All but purring, she slithered into a little dress, slipped into spiked heels that made her legs and ass look fabulous, and spent considerable time on her hair and makeup. Oh yeah, sultry, a little feline, absolutely perfect. With a glance at the clock, she grabbed her phone and fake ID. Time to do a little hunting…


	4. Chapter Four

A check of her phone had provided her an address that Bronwyn gave to the cabbie that picked her up at the mansion gates. She’d planned to drive, but if things went as she hoped, she wasn’t going to want to drive back in a separate car. No, if things went as she planned, driving would be difficult enough…for Remy…  
  
Smiling smugly, she checked her hair and makeup in the cab window and climbed out, looking around at the dimly lit parking lot filled with shiny cars and shinier motorcycles. It wasn’t the clubs she’s been to in New York, but it wasn’t one of Logan’s dive bars either. The music pumping out the open door was promising, as were the flashing of the stage lights and the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor.  
  
With or without Remy this just might be her kind of place, but there was a tall, gorgeous prize in there waiting for her. He might not have her name on him now, but she was determined by the end of the night, they would have marked each other just the same.  
  
Thoughts of Remy marking her, preferably with his teeth, spurred her into action and she sashayed her way across the lot. She could feel eyes on her and normally that would have made her nervous, but not tonight. There would be no hiding in her shell tonight. She felt powerful, and knew as she slipped passed the bouncer with a smile and a wink, that Remy didn’t stand a chance.  
  
Inside the music engulfed her, the lights turning the interior into a chaotic mess, but she didn’t mind that. Despite all the people, she felt comfortable in places like this, having worked in several herself, and she danced her way through the crowd to the bar. As confident as she felt in her appearance, a drink would go a long way in boosting her courage.  
  
She ignored the men that tried to get her attention, her eyes scanned the dance floor while she nursed her drink, looking for her prey. It was hard to pick out individuals in the flash and shadow of blue tinted strobe lights, but Remy was taller than most, especially given that the majority of people on the dance floor were women.  
  
How stupid was it that men came to these places, hoping to pick up women, but the majority of them stayed to the side, drinking and watching the show? A woman didn’t want a spectator, she wanted a man that wasn’t ashamed to play along. Knowing Remy, he had plenty of play and she couldn’t wait to find out just how much he participated with his partners.  
  
The stool gave her a little extra height, enough to see someone that might have been him, so she finished her drink and worked her way into the crowd. She didn’t find him right off, she wasn’t expecting to. She could appreciate the feel of the place, the casual, good natured feel of strangers bumping into each other as they danced. It was fun, so long as no one tried to put their hands on her.  
  
A guy that wouldn’t take a simple refusal had ended up with his face planted on the hard wood floor, with several people kicking him, before he’d managed to regain his feet. Before he could right himself, swearing and looking for what had tripped him, Bronwyn had already plunged deeper into the center of the horde.  
  
Her persistence paid off, and finally she spotted Remy already engaged in what many referred to as club dancing, all hips and legs, pressing up against your partner, or partners in his case. He had two very attractive women in front of him, one leaned back against his chest, the other had her rather impressive man made breasts pressed against his side, her arm flung around his neck, and a third woman behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist.  
  
She couldn’t blame them for the touching, though he was dressed only in dark jeans and a very tight black t-shirt, he wore it well. He turned cotton and denim into a fashion statement; a sexy fashion statement with his hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. She was sorely tempted to help the women lose their footing so she could take a turn with him, but that would probably give her away.  
  
Only one for now, and she set her sights on the woman behind him, giving her a careful nudge with her powers. Foolishly proud of herself, she stepped into the now empty space behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.  
  
Touching him always gave her a thrill but this was different, more potent. Touching him when he didn’t know it was her touching him. She pressed up against his back, moving with him, and leaning her face against his back. God he smelled amazing, and she wished he wasn’t so damn tall. She wanted to nuzzle his neck, but even with the inches her heels gave her, she wasn’t nearly tall enough to reach skin.  
  
He leaned back into her and she wanted to crow her victory, except that would end this too soon and that wasn’t happening. Not when she’d only just gotten her hands on him. Because she could, because she’d always wanted to, she ran her hands over his chest, her hands splayed to feel as much of him as possible.  
  
She could feel him laugh, and had to stifle a moan against his shirt. This was the most erotic thing she’d ever done, better even than her dreams and he had starred in quite a few of her most intense wet dreams. God he felt good, all hard muscle under smooth skin. She wanted to touch his skin and felt like maybe her hand belonged to someone else when it slid under the hem of his shirt.  
  
When he pulled her hand away, she thought she was done for, but instead he reached for her other hand as well and pulled her closer, wrapping her arms more securely around him. She was so giddy she wanted to squeal, but she didn’t. She nuzzled his shoulder blade, as that was as high as she could reach, and just held on.  
  
Everything faded away but him and the music, the feel of him leaning against her, running those long fingered hands over her arms. It was like a dream, she was dreaming and she never wanted to wake up.  
  
Her hands full of his shirt, she didn’t notice when the other two women disappeared, they weren’t important to her, but apparently he noticed as he took the opportunity to take one of her hands and pull her around in front of him. Her heart pounded in her throat, but she was careful to keep her back to him.  
  
“Easy chere.” His voice in her ear, deep and low, sent chills skittering down her spine. His mouth was right there, on her ear, and his quiet laugh had things tightening low in her body. “Remy ain’t gonna hurt ya.”  
  
Oh but he was hurting her. The way his hands roamed over her body gave her the most exquisite pains and she wanted more. He was touching her, freely, with none of the hesitation he showed in class. She could feel his approval in the way his hands lingered on her hips or slid up her sides over the silk of her dress.  
  
When he nudged her head to the side with his chin, she complied easily and was rewarded with his hot breath on her neck, and the feel of him nuzzling at her jaw. Her arm came up around his neck and she held on, holding him close. Yes, oh yes, this was what she wanted.  
  
She was an intriguing mix of shy and wanton, and Remy found that unreasonably appealing. The way she danced and touched him told him she wanted to be here, but the pounding of her heart indicated that she was just a little scared. Not her first time in a club, he surmised, but her first time dancing like this with a strange man.  
  
He hadn’t known what to expect when he felt someone else come up behind him. He didn’t mind, he liked the press of bodies against him, and truth be told, he liked the way she touched him. There was nothing shy about the way her hands had moved, exploring him the way a lover might. Lust pulsed throughout the building like a drum beat, but hers had knocked straight into him and it hadn’t been enough to just have her behind him.  
  
Sending the others off had been easy enough. They were so drunk they could barely stand, but the causal suggestion of another drink had gotten rid of them. He was more interested in whoever was behind him, moving with him, rubbing against him like a cat begging to be stroked. He wouldn’t object to a little mutual stroking.  
  
A small body sheathed in silky black, it would have been enough as he’d always thought there was something incredibly sexy about the feel of silk on skin, but he’d seen the red shoes and those had made his mouth water. She’d worn them for the extra height he was sure, but the bright contrast to her otherwise black ensemble made a statement, one he was pretty sure was intended to scream: fuck me.  
  
He’d take a little more time, get a feel for her and see if she gave off the same vibe as her shoes. If she was only here to dance, he might just die a little, but the way she held onto him indicated she might be open to a different sort of dance.  
  
Testing the waters, he pressed his lips to the side of her neck, deeply aware of the way her breath hitched. Whatever it was she was wearing wrapped around him, and he sank in, breathing in the smell of her while his hands pulled her hips more securely back against him. Whoever the hell she was, it was like she’d been designed with him in mind. Everything about her spoke to him, shot heat straight down until he was sure she wouldn’t be able to mistake his intentions. He didn’t want to scare her, but damn if she wasn’t doing things to him.  
  
Oh God- He was barely touching her, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her beck, but Bronwyn felt like she was going to internally combust. She’d never felt this kind of heat before. It seared along her skin, pooling between her legs until she wished he’d move one of his hands just a little lower. She needed more, needed him so badly she hurt.  
  
Unable to help herself, both arms found their way around his neck and her head fell back against his shoulder. Eager, she pressed her ass more firmly against him, darkly thrilled to feel him so hard against her and she moaned, her back arching as she struggled with all of these sensations. She’d been with men before, but they’d never made her feel like this, like her body was on fire, like she’d die if they stopped touching her.  
  
His teeth nipped possessively at her ear and his arms banded around her, removing the space she’d put between them. She felt possessed already, owned, and he’d barely even begun to touch her. “Kiss me-”  
  
A demand, a curse, and one Remy couldn’t think to refuse. He wanted, he needed, and as she all but vibrated in his arms, he spun her around and took her mouth greedily, his tongue delving into her mouth to stroke along hers.  
  
She moaned, she knew it, and she didn’t care. His hands were on her ass, making her very much aware that with her arms around his neck, her dress was riding dangerously high. She didn’t care, couldn’t care about anything but the way he kissed her, like a man starved, the way his tongue moved with hers, bringing an answering tug inside her. More. She needed more.  
  
He jerked her up to her toes, one hand abandoning her very nice ass to plunge into her hair. There was an urgency about her that was driving him crazy. Now, she seemed to say with her mouth hot and clinging to his, her body so responsive. Demanding, touch me, take me, fuck me…  
  
He wanted to, right here in the middle of a crowded club he wanted to. He wanted to lift her up until she was wrapped around him and find a wall, anything to brace her while he filled her. But this wasn’t the place; his fogged brain registered that. Barely. The things he wanted to do to her shouldn’t be done while they were surrounded by prying eyes. He hoped to God she had a place nearby or he might just have to find a side road somewhere and make use of his backseat.  
  
It had been so long since there’d been a woman that could snap his self control. Rogue could do that to him, and she enjoyed it, the teasing, knowing she never intended to go any further. He was sick to death of women leading him on, playing games. He’d ended it with her and then suddenly there was Bronwyn, doing the exact same thing.  
  
He was more than pissed, he was in a constant state of agony but he wouldn’t be for much longer. Not with a faceless, nameless siren pressing all those sweet curves against him. She wanted, he wanted, and he intended to give them both what they needed and forget for a night about the girl he couldn’t banish from is mind.  
  
He filled his hands with her, humming happily at the thin silky barrier between his hands and her skin. Damn he loved silk, he’d like to trap her hands in the shimmering fabric so she’d have no other choice but to take what he gave her, but to watch him take her with eyes he tried to tell himself weren’t Bronwyn’s.  
  
Changing the angle of the kiss, he eased back only enough to nip at already swollen lips before she dragged him back down. Demanding, he liked that. He didn’t want docile, he wanted a hot, hard war that left them both battered and ultimately satisfied. He wanted to release his pent up frustrations with someone that would give it right back to him. The thrill of being both hunter and hunted.  
  
His hands moved up her sides, caressing the sides of her breasts, and sliding up over her shoulders to brush briefly at her hair. He wanted to touch all of her. He wanted skin, but he wasn’t about to drag her dress up just to get his hands on her ass. There were easier ways. The dress was sleeveless and for the moment, her arms would do, but there was still a frustrating barrier between their skin.  
  
A little annoyed, a little curious, he pulled his mouth away from hers to glance at the arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Fishnet, she was wearing fishnet sleeves under the dress. A little odd, but as her mouth busied itself on his neck, his brain wasn’t willing to wonder why something about that made him uneasy. He didn’t want that kind of sobriety when he was drunk on her emotions, on his own.  
  
He would have been content to forget about it, to drag her out to his car and to hell with her place or his, but when he shifted, pressing a leg between hers, she gasped and moaned his name.  
  
His spine stiffened, and he pushed her back a step, his hands that had been pulling her close now holding her away from him. Between the dark and the strobe lights, her hair had looked different, and he’d never seen her in a dress before, but it was Bronwyn standing there, staring at him with half lidded eyes.  
  
Anger pounded down the lust, but his body didn’t get the memo. As pissed as he was, he still wanted her, craved her like that first drag from a cigarette. So damn sexy in a dress that didn’t even hit mid thigh, her hair held back from her face with two sparkling clips. It was a punch to the gut, seeing her dressed like this. She looked like a woman, rumpled and ready for what they could bring to each other in the dark.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He growled, jerking her close enough that she could hear him over the music. She wasn’t supposed to be here, dressed like that, with him. He was here to get away from her, get her out of his system.  
  
“I came to be with you.” She said slowly, her eyes blinking like she was surfacing from a deep sleep. That’s what this felt like, being so deep in sleep and having someone yank you viciously awake. She was having a hard time keeping up.  
  
He was angry with her, why was he angry when just a minute ago he’d been so hot; touching her in ways she didn’t even know she liked. She didn’t want to see the fury snapping in those red eyes. She was so close to getting what she wanted, why couldn’t he just cooperate?  
  
He could feel her confusion and her lust that was keeping his own roaring somewhere around his ears so that he almost missed her words. “You shouldn’t be here.”  
  
The disapproval in his voice had her bristling and she jerked her arm away from him, “that’s not what you were thinking a minute ago.”  
  
“I didn’t know who you were a minute ago.” He grabbed her arm again and started to pull her through the crowd, the force of his anger making people back away from them. They made better time than he’d expected, and he was glad to finally be able to take a breath of fresh air. “I’m taking you home.”  
  
Narrowing her eyes, she dug in her heels, and jerked to a halt. He wanted her, she knew he did. She’d felt it like a warmth on her skin, not to mention the hard on he still had. Had to be painful in those tight jeans… She would have smirked, if she wasn’t so damn pissed.  
  
He’d been all over her, they’d been all over each other, and now he was trying to act like it hadn’t happened, like it didn’t matter. There was no way in hell she was just going to let him try to pretend what happened in there was nothing. She was stirred up and so was he and there was no way she was going home now, not after that.  
  
“Only if you’re going to take me to bed,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down. “I don’t find this hard to get routine flattering.”  
  
“Hard to get?!” He demanded, “You tricked me. You shouldn’t even be here.”  
  
“I am here pretty boy, like it or not. If you aren’t going to finish what you started, I’m going back in there to find someone that will.”  
  
“Like hell you are-” It was jealousy as much as anger that had him grabbing for her again as she turned back. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to sleep knowing that some guy had his hands on her, not when she could get hurt, not when he wanted his own hands on her. “I’m takin’ you home. I don’t wanna hear any more about it.”  
  
Whirling around, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him down, “You take me home Stud, it’s gonna be to your bed or mine. If not, I’m coming right back out and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”  
  
“Wanna bet?” He grabbed her and slung her up over his shoulder, taking a dark sort of satisfaction from hearing her scream in shock and then swear at him. He waved a goodnight to the bouncer that watched them curiously but made no move to interfere; they knew Remy here and just figured it was some sort of lover’s spat.  
  
Still muttering to himself, he walked over, threw open the back door to his car and drug her down into his arms to toss her inside. Maybe it wasn’t the way he’d intended to get her in the back of his car, and maybe her dress curled up around her waist with the rough treatment, but she deserved it. She deserved to get her ass kicked for that little stunt.  
  
Slamming the door, he went around and climbed in, gunning the engine and turning for home.  
  
Bronwyn sprawled in the seat for a minute, shocked, stunned, not at the rough way he’d handled her, though that did piss her off, but at the careless show of strength. He was strong, but that wasn’t one of the abilities he showed off very often. The way he’d carted her around like she weighed nothing left her breathless and terribly aroused.  
  
Squirming around, she managed to pull her dress back down and leaned between the seats, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet LeBeau. Where the fuck do you get off, grabbing me, slinging me around like that?”  
  
“Don’t talk ta me right now-” He ground out. If she kept talking, despite Logan’s confidence in him, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep from hurting her.  
  
There was hurt, anger, betrayal swirling around inside him. No one had known where he was going but Logan. Logan had told her to do this when Remy hadn’t acted fast enough and she’d come prancing in, playing with him. Again. He’d promised to try, but dammit, he wanted to do it his way and now everything was just… He wasn’t sure there was any salvaging this. She’d had no right to do that to him, get him all worked up like that when she knew he didn’t want to touch her that way.  
  
Now he knew exactly how it felt to get his hands on her, to have her against him, the taste of her in his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to lie to himself anymore or pretend he didn’t want her. He didn’t want to want this, and now he would have to face the fact that he did.  
  
His jaw was clenched, his hands tight on the wheel, his eyes focused straight ahead. He was ignoring her, something else that pissed her off. Oh no you don’t, she thought. You don’t get to manhandle me, and then throw me in the back like a little kid and then give me the silent treatment.  
  
Grabbing hold of the front seat, Bronwyn steadied her self and climbed between them, kicking him for the hell of it before she freed herself and settled in the seat beside him. Much better.  
  
The car had swerved only a little while she switched seats, and only when she’d kicked him. She could see his eyes widen in surprise, maybe annoyance, but he hadn’t said anything. She could imagine him biting his tongue to keep quiet and thought that she would like to be the one biting his tongue instead.  
  
Don’t talk he’d said. Alright, she didn’t have to talk to get her point across. Making herself comfortable in her seat, she stretched out her legs, smirking a little when she saw his eyes follow the movement, and dropped her hand onto his crotch.  
  
“Jesus Christ!” The car jerked hard to the left and she smiled brightly as Remy fought to get it back in the right lane. Her breath coming in short pants, her heart thudding thickly in her throat, she kneaded him gently until his hand clamped down on her wrist an tossed it away.  
  
“Do that again,” he said, his eyes a burning red, “and I’ll shove you outta the damn car.”  
  
She had no time to respond before he was flying through the mansion gates and screeching to a halt in front of the garage. The engine cut off, leaving them in an abrupt stillness, and she leaned over to fasten her teeth on his ear.  
  
His hand came up and he shoved her hard enough to have her hitting the opposite door. He didn’t care, he had to get out, had to get away from her before he did something he would regret. Shoving the door open, he all but fell out of the car, and somehow she was right there, right on him, pressing him back against the car.  
  
“Get the hell off a me.” Rage and fear turned his voice to ice and he turned his head away from her searching mouth. He couldn’t kiss her again, he couldn’t think when he kissed her and he needed to think. He could see the car behind him, beginning to glow fiercely magenta under his hands and he struggled to pull it back.  
  
“You need to get away from me.”  
  
“No.” A part of her felt bad about pushing him like this, but she wanted him so badly. He wanted her, under all the threats and the anger, he wanted her too and she knew if she let him walk away now, he would be gone by the morning.  
  
Desperate, her arms went back around his neck and she wrenched herself up, kissing his jaw, searching for his mouth. “I want you Remy. Please. I need you.”  
  
Losing his mind, he slammed her against the nearest wall, hard enough for her to cry out. His hands planted to either side of her, and leaned down until he could see her skin tinted red from his eyes. “You don’t know,” he said weakly, desperate in his own right. He had no right touching her, he was wrong, he wasn’t safe. “I’m dangerous…”  
  
“I’m not afraid of you.” She could see the wall glowing behind her, just as the car had. She knew if he lost control even for a second, he could kill her and himself, but he would never mean to. He was a good man, he wouldn’t hurt her.  
  
Gently her hands came up to stroke his chest, “It’s alright Remy. You don’t have to be afraid.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him lightly. The urgency was still there, she still ached for him, but she could sit that aside for just a moment. He was afraid for her, afraid of himself, and that was a feeling she knew all too well. “It’s going to be fine.”  
  
“I could hurt you-”  
  
“You won’t.” She was sure of that. She’d watched him enough to know that. He wouldn’t hurt her, she wouldn’t have been interested in the kind of man that would. “Come to bed with me Remy.”  
  
They stared at each other for long moments and finally, finally, his mouth crashed down on hers.


	5. Chapter Five

He was going to hell, he’d done so much wrong in his life he was sure to have his own condo in hell by now, but he couldn’t keep fighting this. He’d tried to be strong, but it wasn’t enough. She had this hold on him that was too powerful to resist.  
  
Pressing her back against the wall, he kissed her, he pressed against her, letting her feel  his frustrations, his fears, his desire and hers shot back along his skin like a whiplash. He couldn’t fight this, not now, not in the dark with her pressing back so eagerly against him, her hands fisting in his hair… He was lost, and he was afraid he would never be able to find his way again.  
  
“Stay with me,” she panted, sensing him withdrawing into himself, “stay with me.” She leaned into him, feeling him pressing against her stomach. He could take her from pissed to desperate faster than anyone she’d ever met and she had to have him.  
  
“Inside,” she said against his mouth, “we need to go in.” Before she lost her mind completely and demanded that he fuck her out here, against the cold stone wall.  
  
There was something to be said for outdoor sex, but that’s not what she wanted for her first time with him. Some other time, there would be other times; she would have to kill him if he said otherwise, but for now they needed to get upstairs.  
  
She needed to get out of this dress, get him out of his clothes. Needed to feel him, hot and hard and shaking with want and anticipation. Already she ached with the need to feel him inside her, taking her hard and greedy while she clung to him.  
  
“Remy.” She moaned his name, breathy, strained, just like she had in the club but this time he wasn’t ready to end it. He grabbed her, lifted her, until her legs could wrap around his waist. Inside, she wanted to go inside. Upstairs would have been better as all he could think of was burying himself inside her, but he didn’t want to do that out here where anyone could come out and catch them.  
  
This was wrong, he wasn’t supposed to be touching her like this, thinking of her like this, but he couldn’t help it. She’d busted in the walls and he couldn’t hold it back any more.  
  
He carried her inside, moving as quietly as he could through the garage and up the stairs. It was difficult as she was tugging his shirt aside, her teeth digging into the spot where his shoulder met his neck, and he had to keep from moaning as she laved the now tender spot with her tongue. She was trying to get him killed, he decided, that’s all there was to it.  
  
His room? Her room? Her room was in the students’ wing, and there was no way he was going to risk running into one of her classmates or have Kitty ghosting into her room while they were both naked. His room then. Logan would just have to get the fuck over it-  
  
He didn’t remember going up all those stairs, but he found himself pressing her back against the wall beside his door while he fumbled for his keys. Why did he keep his door locked again?  He couldn’t remember. There were no coherent thoughts in his head now, only primal, driving needs.  
  
His fingers felt clumsy, something that should have mortified him given his occupation, and he struggled for the right key. Should have color coded them, but that would have been anal, that would make it too easy for someone to snatch his keys and break in on him, that would be bad in so many ways.  
  
He hissed and grabbed for the hand she wriggled between them, “Will you stop that!? I’m tryin’ ta find de right goddamn key.”  
  
“I found my key,” she smirked, pressing her lips to his jaw. “Hurry.”  
  
He didn’t need to be told twice. At last he found it and the door all but flew open. Inside, he kicked it closed and carried her over to his bed. He didn’t need the light, thanks to his eyes he could see in the dark. He could see her perfectly, her eyes dark with desire, her mouth a little bruised from kisses that might have been a little too hard. There were going to be marks on her skin, and he would feel bad about that…tomorrow.  
  
Tonight the knowledge only heighted his own desire. He wanted to take her, mark her so that every time she looked at herself in the coming days, she would remember him and what they’d brought to each other.  
  
 Without warning, his hands released her and she felt herself falling through the dark. She shrieked a little, stopping abruptly when her back hit a soft surface. His bed… She was actually in his bed. God she felt light headed and they weren’t even…. Where was he? Why wasn’t he with her? Touching her?  
  
“Remy?” She sat up slowly, trying to make anything out in the dark. “Where did you go?”  
  
A light flickered to life across the room, then another, and another. Candles, and with every one he lit, the room steadily filled with a soft light. Her first thought was that he looked incredible in the candlelight, it was hard to take her eyes off of him, but as he moved, her focus shifted and she found her eyes drifting curiously around the room.  
  
She’d never been in his room before. Even in her dreams when she’d been taking full advantage of his bed, and him, she hadn’t paid much attention to the room. It was bigger then hers, which was completely unfair, she was a girl after all, and had much more stuff. There was some interesting art on the walls, some smaller pieces on shelves filled with books. A desk that was certainly fancier than the one she used to do her homework.  
  
Overall it felt very Remy-like, but there was one thing nagging at her. She sat up more fully and took a good, long look. It was clean! There were no clothes on the floor, no soda cans, beer bottles, candy wrappers laying everywhere. There weren’t any cigarette ashes and she knew damn well he smoked about as much as she did.  
  
Glancing back at the bed, she felt a smirk tug at her lips. The bed was made. The man actually made the bed… “Your room is clean.”  
  
“Hmm?” He turned his head but didn’t look at her, “oui.”  
  
“Bloody hell, you could eat off of the floor. What do you have a maid?”  
  
Catching the mocking tone to her voice, he turned around and arched an eyebrow at her, “no. I’m just not a slob like some people.”  
  
With a cackling laugh, she sat up on her knees, looked at the closed closet doors. “I bet your closet is all tidy too. A damn neat freak,” she giggled, “who knew?  And you’ve got pretty candles everywhere… Are you sure you’re straight?”  
  
“Ya wanna find out?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “or would you prefer ta have your laugh on de way out?”  
  
“No need to get touchy,” she pouted. “Or better yet,” her pout rapidly changed to a smile, and she crooked a finger at him, shifting so that her dress inched higher up her thighs, “you could get very touchy. That would require you coming over here though…”  
  
She’d given him time too cool off, a mistake she hadn’t planned on making, but then how was she to know that he would stop long enough to light some stupid candles? She figured once she’d hit the bed he would have been all over her, but no. Now there was distance between them, she’d had a chance to have a little laugh at his living situation, and he was starting to rethink things.  
  
That just couldn’t happen. She might die if she had to leave before she got a taste of him. More than a taste, she wanted all of him. She would just have to remind him that he wanted her just as badly.  
  
“What’s the matter?” She cooed, slowly rolling her shoulders, “don’t you want to touch me, Remy?” She rose up on her knees, her fingers trailing over the hem of her dress, “I want you to touch me. I want you to rip my clothes off of me and use your hands on me, your mouth.” She paused, running her tongue along her lower lip, “I want to feel you inside me. But,” she shrugged, trying to keep it nonchalant, “if that’s not what you want, I suppose I could just go.”  
  
“You’re not goin’ anywhere.”  
  
He’d wanted to see her, wanted her to be able to see him, so he’d lit some candles. Maybe a part of himself had been hoping the distance would be enough to level his system, to let him think with the big head rather than the little one, but the sight of her in his bed, the words coming out of her mouth… Her mouth… There were so many things he wanted to do to her.  
  
He knew she was faking it, that she wouldn’t leave on her own, she wanted this too badly, but he should have been able to take the out. It would have been better for everyone, but he couldn’t let her walk out that door. He knew how she felt now, how she tasted, and the brief sampling he’d had wasn’t anywhere near enough.  
  
The sound of his voice, low and rough, shot right through her and her stomach clenched in victory, in anticipation. She looked at him, suddenly so much closer than before, and her eyes locked on his as she slid her hands teasingly up her body, “What are you waiting for?”  
  
She was so certain she had him. She was beautiful, and she was doing a good job of using his hormones against him, but in this kind of game, he had more than enough experience to turn things in his favor. He might have wanted to, given that her smirk was beginning to seriously piss him off, but he didn’t have the patience tonight to teach her that kind of lesson.  
  
At the edge of the bed, he took her arms and pulled her up to stand on her knees and he kissed her again, taking full advantage of the height difference. He ravished her mouth, much the same way he wanted to do to her body. He would, but not yet, not until she was out of her mind with need for him. He wanted her gasping, quivering, struggling to think enough to beg for what she wanted. Only then would he give in and take her.  
  
Bronwyn might have pouted, if he wasn’t one hell of a kisser. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work. He wasn’t supposed to be standing over her, grabbing at her again. He was supposed to be in bed with her, removing her clothes, letting her remove his. Why did he have to make everything so difficult?  
  
She wanted him badly. It was like she had a furnace inside her drenching her insides with this blistering heat. The ache was intense and growing steadily worse in the wake of his talented mouth. Everything about him seemed designed to torment a woman, as if he’d been born with just that purpose in mind.  
  
He was exactly what she wanted, hot mouth, big hands, lean, muscled body. He made her feel desirable, something she sure as hell wasn’t used to feeling. He made her painfully aware that she was a woman, and here, with him, she didn’t want to hide her femininity. She wanted him to see, to want, and wondered if he could appreciate the differences between them like she did.  
  
She grabbed a handful of his shirt and tried to tug him down but he resisted. Trying again, she took his shirt in both hands and leaned backward, hoping that maybe he would follow her to keep in contact with her mouth, but he didn’t do that either. Stuck somewhere between annoyed and desperate, she glared up at that damnable poker face and planted her hands on her hips. “Well?” She demanded, “are you gonna get on with it, or are you going to stand there staring at me all night?”  
  
His hands surged forward, shoving at her shoulders, and she fell back over her own legs, landing on his bed with a squeak. “What the hell-?”  
  
“Shut up,” he said, and kicked off his boots before kneeling down on the bed beside her. He could have gone about it differently, but she had entirely too much power already, it was time to take some of it back. He wanted her passion, he wanted her pissed, and he wanted her to know that whatever happened between them would happen at his pace.  
  
She’d pushed and manipulated to get to this point, but tonight he would get a bit of payback for that. Starting with her frustration.  
  
The sly seductress was gone, vanished under annoyance that was quickly turning to a pout as she realized this wasn’t going to be a quick flash and bang moment. He wanted fast and greedy, rough with a hint of bite, but it wouldn’t be fast. He’d endured weeks of torture at her hands, the least he could do was give her a taste of it in return.  
  
Crawling up the bed, he pushed her back down against the pillows and straddled her, enjoying the feel of her beneath him, though he was careful with how much he touched her. Too much contact of any kind might get her off, and he had no intention of letting that happen, not so soon.  
  
Much like he had in the club, his mouth found her neck but the kisses weren’t nearly so innocent as before. With his hands braced to either side of her shoulders, he feasted on her throat, leaving a trail of bite marks from her shoulder to her jaw. Pissed as he was with her, hurting her wasn’t part of the game, and he was careful to pay attention to her, to stop when the sensation passed over the edge of pleasure into pain. Pain could be pleasure if given correctly, but that wasn’t something you explored the first time with a new partner.  
  
How could she feel like this when he wasn’t touching her? He was using nothing but his mouth on her and already she felt ready to explode. This wasn’t Remy as she knew him, this man marking her skin and then soothing the slight stings with his tongue. This wasn’t the playful Cajun she knew from class, or the cocky one from danger room sessions. She thought for a minute that she’d made a mistake, that this familiar looking stranger might just be more than she could handle but when at last his mouth closed over hers again, she gave into her own dark desires and slid her hands beneath his shirt.  
  
She got farther this time, exploring tanned skin with her hands, even if she couldn’t see very well from this position. His chest, his sides, his back, he was seriously built and for a second she wanted to squeal with girlish delight. She was touching him, skin on skin, and it was better than anything she could have imagined. She could spend hours tracing the muscles in his chest, hell, she could spend hours just looking at him, if he would ever get on with it and take the damn shirt off…  
  
Remy was willing to let her touch, just a little, but when he felt her pulling his shirt up, he raised up and pulled her hands off of him. “No.”  
  
“What do you mean no?” She growled. She had to force it, as she really wanted to whine at the refusal, but even now her pride wouldn’t allow that. “You leave a string of hickeys up my neck but I can’t take your shirt off? What the hell’s that about?”  
  
The old, familiar smirk played over his face as he knelt above her, holding her wrists in his hands. “It’s what I want tonight.” He put a hand over her mouth, cutting off her protest. “You’ve been at me for a long time, so I think I earned dis. Don’t worry chere, I’m gonna take care a you.”  
  
“When?” She snorted, “looks to me like all that talk about you’s just talk. A lot of kissing big guy, but next to no action.” She raked her eyes down his body, her gaze reappraising, “tell the truth, you’ve never done this before have you? You’ve been faking it all this time.”  
  
He wasn’t going to rise to the bait. Maybe he would have when he was younger, but he could be horribly patient when he needed to be, more so when he wanted to be, and right now, he had what he wanted, spread out beneath him for the taking. If she thought a few weak words were going to snap his control, she had a long wait. She’d weakened his resolve before, but he was looking at her now, and he was going to take his time.  
  
Pressing her hands above her head, he ran his hands down her silk clad body. She wasn’t the only one that appreciated touch, and the feel of her turned him on. She was small, but she was strong, and the proof of that clenched and strained beneath his hands. Well toned muscle met his touch, and he could admit to himself that he was eager to remove the layers keeping the view from him.  
  
He had the satisfaction of feeling her shiver as he shifted to straddle her legs rather than her hips, and his hands skimmed over her legs, up then down, then sliding under her dress to ease the fabric higher. He knew she had a fishnet shirt, but he’d assumed the fishnet covering her legs had been a type of pantyhose, but as his hands moved higher, he found no gap in the material. What the hell was she wearing?  
  
“Raise up.” It was curiosity as much as desire that had him pulling the dress over her head and tossing it aside.  
  
He felt like she’d knocked him in the head with a hammer, and hoped it didn’t show. He hadn’t paid attention to the way her dress had come up when he’d thrown her in the car, if he had, he didn’t think he would have managed to get her home. The dress was sexy, what she wore under it was even better. If he’d known what she was hiding under that slinky piece of silk, he would have taken it off of her long before now…  
  
Bronwyn felt like a cat that had been given a particularly sweet bowl of cream. His face, his reaction, was exactly what she’d wanted. She’d chosen her underwear as carefully as she’d selected the dress for just this moment. His eyes felt as heavy as his hands as they moved over her, and she shivered happily, shifting a little to better show off her lingerie. “Like what you see?” She asked, her tongue between her teeth as she trailed a hand over the lacy cup of her bra. “I bought it with you in mind…”  
  
It was true enough, when she’d seen the tiny bra and matching thong, she’d had to have them. She wanted to wear them for Remy, in fact, she’d updated her underwear collection quite a bit with him in mind, but this was her favorite set. Red with black roses embroidered on it, she’d bought it because it had reminded her of his eyes. It still did.  
  
Those beautiful eyes glowed brightly and she bit her lip, arching her back a little to push her breasts forward, “I tried it on the first time, already imagining you taking it off of me.”  
  
Lunging forward, Remy dropped onto his hands and kissed her, his tongue once again twining with hers. He’d always had a weakness for red, maybe she’d known that, maybe she hadn’t, but it had renewed his own urgency to have her, to take her, to claim her.  
  
She was so fucking beautiful, he wanted skin, he wanted to rip her pretty underwear off of her, sort of… Another part of him just wanted her to lay there so he could look at her, but not right now. He’d have her put it on again later so he could look his fill, but right now, he needed more. If he could get rid of the damn fishnet first.  
  
A suit. Who had a fishnet bodysuit? He’d never heard of such a thing, yet the proof was right here under his hands, keeping him from what he wanted most. Annoyed, he tugged at the zipper that sat between her breasts.  Off. It needed to come off… Except, of course, the stupid zipper was caught on the stupid stuff… Who knew wanting to fuck someone could be so infuriating?  
  
“Hey!” She protested when he yanked viciously on the zipper. “These things are expensive! I don’t have that many of them.”  
  
“I’ll buy ya another one,” he ground out, jerking it hard enough to have the metal piece coming loose in his hand. With a satisfied hum, he split the rest down her body and pulled it first from her arms, then from her legs. “Better.”  
  
“When I said I wanted you to rip my clothes off,” she muttered, looking at her now ruined suit, “I didn’t mean that literally.”  
  
“Shut up. Jus’…shut…up…” He took her mouth again, running his hands eagerly over newly bared flesh. He felt her tense as his fingers brushed over certain spots, but he kept kissing her, stroking her, until she relaxed again. Whatever was bothering her, he would get to it later.  
  
Tearing his mouth from hers, he kissed down her neck, lapping softly at the marks he’d left there, and worked along her collar bones. Slow. Because he wanted to devour her in one greedy bite, he forced himself to slow down and appreciate the tastes and textures of her skin. The way her breasts mounded over the cups of her incredibly sexy bra.  
  
He kissed her breasts, between them, before dipping his tongue inside to tease. Her gasp went right through him, and he reached around her to unhook it so he could get his first look at her.  
  
Look nothing, he decided, tossing the pretty thing to the side, he’d look later. His thumbs brushed over peaked nipples, and the small barbells she wore, before lowering his mouth to her again. She was so damn sensitive, and the sounds she made was making it was hard to savor.  
  
There was something incredibly attractive about her piercings, of which he had reason to know she had many, and his hand slid down her body, intent on finding the one she’d made it a point of bragging about. He’d never been with anyone that had had this particular piercing, but he was more than willing to play. His hand slid into her panties, and found another barbell. God she was killing him…  
  
Maybe she was, but the causal way he touched her was driving her out of her mind. His mouth, and then his fingers… Good, so good, but not enough. She arched into his fingers, a silent demand for more. One he promptly ignored. She had no breath to whimper or she might had. She’d never had someone do this to her, bring her so much pleasure with so little contact.  
  
The others she’d been with had wanted instant gratification. There had been little to no foreplay, but then she’d wanted none. Now she had no choice, and she reveled in that just as much as the things he was doing to her. She’d pushed him, that was true, but if she’d had to go much farther, she wouldn’t have been able to. She wasn’t the dominant one in sexual encounters, she wasn’t good at it, but he was and God if surrendering to him wasn’t better than anything she’d had before.  
  
Why wasn’t he fucking her yet? The thought registered as she lifted her hips automatically to let him pull off her thong. He was teasing her, and it was good, but how was he able to hold off like this? He had to be hurting as badly as she was. He had to be- “Oh Fuck!”  
  
She arched off the bed as he replaced his fingers with his mouth and her hands wrapped in his hair to pull him closer. “Oh fuck…Remy…”  
  
This was what he wanted, to have her mewling, writhing under him, to feel her slipping ever closer to that wild edge. He watched her, her head thrown back, hands clenched into the pillows above her head, her chest heaving with the panting breaths she managed to drag in, and he smiled smugly. She was close; he didn’t need to feel her to know that. She said it in the way she trembled, the way her voice hitched every time she moaned his name.  
  
After weeks of torturing him, she was moments from getting what she wanted, at least, she thought she was. He had no intention of making it that easy. He lapped at her, brushing his fingers over her, into her, all the while paying special attention to the pretty splash of silver. When her whole body began to tense and her panting breaths gave way to small whines, he moved away from her, ending all contact.  
  
Shaking, gasping, it took Bronwyn a second to realize it had stopped. All those lovely sensations were gone. Wrenching her eyes open, she saw Remy sitting on the side of the bed, staring at her. “What?” She asked breathlessly, “Why’d you stop?”  
  
“Because I wanted to,” he said mildly, taking a little time to enjoy watching her confusion shift gears to frustration.  
  
“Do you have a reason for that?” she asked. Her voice was a little sharper than she intended, but damned if she cared. She’d been right there, so close she could practically taste it and he just stopped. Stopped, she thought with narrowed eyes, to sit and watch her with what her pleasure addled brain was beginning to determine was amusement.  
  
“You find it funny? Teasing me like that? Why?”  
  
One side of his mouth twitched up into a smirk, “payback’s a bitch. Ain’t it?”


	6. Chapter Six

Her narrowed eyes widened with shock and fury, “you son of a bitch!” She didn’t register it at the time, but some of his books flew off their shelves as she launched herself at him. Payback? He’d done all of this to get back at her?  
  
Twin sparks of hurt and rage spurred her on as she hit him. Maybe she would be embarrassed later about using teeth and nails as well as her fists, but even pissed as she was, she was very much aware that she was naked, and he wasn’t; she needed all the help she could get.  
  
She hadn’t been able to get a good leap at him from her knees, that was the only reason Remy had managed to keep himself from being knocked off the bed. He tried to grab hold of her, but having her naked was as much a disadvantage for him as it was for her. Unless he was willing to grab her hair or take a serious grip on her, he had nothing to catch hold of, and he didn’t want to hurt her.  
  
His arms were scratched, her elbow had caught his jaw, and somehow he had a painfully throbbing bite on his shoulder, but oddly enough, he wasn’t mad anymore. He could feel her anger battering at him, but he wasn’t at all tempted to respond in kind. No, he found the whole ordeal outrageously funny.  
  
Laughing, he finally managed to get his arms around her, and he tossed her back on the bed. Moving quickly, he knelt over her as he had in the beginning, her wrists held in one of his hands so she couldn’t do any more damage. “Easy spitfire…”  
  
“Don’t laugh at me! Goddamn bastard! Let go of me!” She bucked under him, though behind the red haze of fury, she knew she had no chance in hell of actually moving him. He was so much bigger than her, so much stronger, and it only pissed her off more that she was actually aroused by that.  
  
She liked that he was bigger, that he could hold her motionless while he had his way with her. She felt like a doll in comparison, and maybe she would have even liked it if he hadn’t been an asshole. She’d trusted him, and he’d just… And then he laughed about it! The nerve of the bastard!  
  
She was wobbling back and forth between her anger and her urges, Remy could understand that entirely. He’d been able to want her while being pissed off at the situation; it was a struggle he appreciated. As much as he appreciated how fucking hot she was when she was seriously pissed off. He grinned down at her, being careful to keep his grip loose enough on her wrists so she wouldn’t hurt herself as she thrashed around. Sooner or later she would come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to get free. Unless she telekinetically tossed something at his head, which he wouldn’t put passed her.  
  
“If you promise not to attack me anymore, I’ll let you up.”  
  
“Fuck you!”  
  
“Chere, I’d like nothin’ more, but ya gotta calm down first.”  
  
“You think you can just- What?” His words filtered through to her brain and she froze, staring up at him suspiciously. “You actually want to?”  
  
“Yeah,” he laughed, still grinning. “Yeah, I think I’d like to. If you’d stop tryin’ ta kill me for five minutes.”  
  
“If five minutes is all you can manage,” she sneered, “I don’t think I’m interested after all.”  
  
“You’re interested darlin’, you’n I both know dat.” He let go of her hands, running his own down her arms to tease at her breasts. He liked looking at her, now that he let himself, and he liked touching her. It was like riding a live wire and hell if it wasn’t a turn on. He hadn’t expected a punch like this and he’d been expecting quite a bit.  
  
Speaking of punches… He sat up, once again straddling her hips and took stock of himself. The scratches were superficial, his jaw ached a little, he might have a couple bruises here and there, but his shoulder hurt like a bitch. He turned his head, wondering how she’d managed to break skin through his shirt and let out another peal of laughter. “Ya ripped my shirt.”  
  
“You ripped my suit,” she shot back, trying to hold onto her anger. His mood swings were confusing. One minute he was dark and dangerous, then smug and a little mean, now he was touching her, laughing, like nothing had ever been wrong. There was something seriously wrong with this man… Why did she find that unreasonably attractive?  
  
Could it have something to do with this hands moving slowly, intimately over her body? Most likely. The anger dissipated as quickly as it had come and she found herself arching into his touch. How could they go from pissed to horny again in a matter of seconds? They were both nuts, she decided, and decided just as quickly that she didn’t really care.  
  
“Told ya I’d buy ya a new one,” he muttered, completely distracted with running his fingers over her navel piercing. There were so many surprises to her. The piercings, the tattoo…so much to learn about her…  
  
Taking advantage of his distraction, she levered herself up and managed to knock him off balance. Smugly satisfied, she reversed their positions, straddling his waist and shoving the damnable t-shirt up to get her hands on skin. “Ya shouldn’t zone out on a lady sweet,” she grinned, “particularly not a needy lady.”  
  
“Needy? Dat what we’re callin’ it?” He leaned up enough to let her pull his shirt off of him and laid back, his arms stretched comfortably overhead. “Not de word I’d a used.”  
  
She didn’t care what word he would use for anything, not when she was here, sitting completely naked on newly bared flesh. The feel of his skin against the most intimate parts of her had her heart galloping again, and she leaned down to kiss him, pressing her body along his chest.  
  
His trick wasn’t forgiven, but for the moment it would be forgotten in favor of more pleasurable attentions. She needed him, needed to feel all of him. With that in mind, she broke off her assault on his mouth and kissed along his neck.  
  
Glancing up at him, she smirked to find his eyes closed, and she pressed mercilessly on the bite on his shoulder. “No zoning.” She ordered.  
  
“ ‘M not zonin’,” he demanded after a pained yelp, “was enjoyin’ de moment, ‘fore ya went an did dat.”  
  
“Big baby,” she muttered, continuing her trek over his skin. Hands and mouth, teeth and tongue, she used all to explore him. His skin was warm and soft, but not as smooth as she’d always assumed. She could feel faint lines crisscrossing here and there over his skin.  
  
Her gaze whipped back up to his face, but there was no embarrassment, no concern as she traced what were obviously scars on his body. The majority of them weren’t like hers, thick and ugly, but rather thin, faint lines like surgical scars. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had been voluntary, or if he’d been forced much the way she’d been.  
  
Too deep, she thought, shaking her head. She didn’t want to dwell on the past, on scars and how she might have more in common with the pretty boy thief than she’d ever let herself believe. Sex, it was about sating needs, not personal intimacy. She wasn’t looking for a relationship.  
  
Still, she pressed gentle kisses to what marks she could see in the flickering light and felt a sharp tug inside at his hiss when she dipped her tongue into his navel. He might just be as sensitive as she was… That could be promising.  
  
Humming with satisfaction and curiosity, she moved lower, where his jeans sat low on his hips. Feeling bolder than she ever had, she bit lightly at his hip while she worked his belt loose and unfastened the button on his jeans. How far was she willing to take this? Oral sex had never really been her thing, but as she slowly dragged the zipper down, she found herself wondering what it would be like.  
  
Would he want her to? She’d never met a man yet that would refuse a blow job, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Still her eyes were glued to that zipper, to the parted denim, to the bulge just below her fingers. She hadn’t touched him again, she’d been almost afraid to. This, what she was doing now, was the most forward thing she’d ever done in bed.  
  
She’d been expecting him to lose it, to drag her back up long before now, but he seemed content to let her explore as he had. Fairness in a thief, she’d mocked him for it often enough, but now she found it oddly touching, and intimidating. She’d come this far, would he let her stop? Would it make him angry if she didn’t finish it? He had after all, sort of anyway…  
  
She was staring at his zipper like her life depended on it. Remy would have laughed if he hadn’t been able to feel her worry. He didn’t like that, or the edges of fear simmering just beneath. He’d thought she’d wanted this, to undress him as he’d done her, a bit of quid pro quo. He hadn’t expected the fear, or the quick flash of understanding that came along with it.  
  
He’d found out a bit out her, of course he had. She was an annoying pain in his ass, of course he was going to look into her. That he was attracted to her had nothing to do with it, or so he’d said, so he’d forced himself to believe. He’d known she had a hard time with people, but it hurt something inside him to understand why.  
  
Reaching down, he took her chin in his hand and canted her face up, gently pulling forward until she began to follow the motion. She crawled back up the length of his body and he kissed her slowly, softly, his hands gentle now when they touched her. He wanted her with a passion, that hadn’t changed, but so many other things had, and he would go about it differently now.  
  
Bronwyn fought him initially, she didn’t want sweet, she didn’t want tender. She wanted fast and hot and now. The softness of his mouth made her want to cry, but she was helpless to resist the things he made her feel.  
  
Mindful of her, Remy slid his hands down her back to grab lightly at her ass, to shift her just a little as he lifted his hips. He swallowed her moan and rolled them both, pressing more firmly against her. In trying to put her at ease, he was killing himself, but some things were more important. He wanted her, but not when she was afraid, not when she was vulnerable. He wanted to fuck her, not take advantage of her.  
  
She didn’t realize what he’d done, that he’d brought her back to where she felt safe and comfortable, all she could think of was that now familiar ache and the feel of him pressing close. There was nothing between them now but a thin layer of material and that made her so damn hot.  
  
Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him closer. She wanted him inside her, but there was no denying the friction of rough denim felt incredible. Forgetting herself, drowning once more in sensation, she slid her hand between them and into his jeans.  
  
“Fuck-” Her hand wrapped around him, and Remy’s eyes nearly crossed. Nearly, but not before he’d seen hers fly wide in shock. “Problem?” He managed, panting harshly.  
  
“You’re not wearing anything under these.”  
  
“Saves time.” The grin came automatically, but died as he reluctantly squirmed free of her hold enough to lift himself off of her.  
  
A little whine escaped before she could stop it. She’d dreamed of touching him, of being with him. She’d now, briefly, done the first and was hopefully finally on the way to the second, but he’d stopped again…  
  
“Don’ worry chere, jus’ evenin’ de odds a lil bit.” He rid himself of his pants and climbed back on the bed to sprawl beside her. “Ya ok?” He asked, propping his head on his arm with a little smile, “ya wanna take a minute.”  
  
“Please,” she snorted, “you’re not that good.” Liar, she scolded herself, you are such a liar. He was too that good, except to save face, she now had to try not to look at him and dammit, she really wanted to. She wanted to look at him, see if he measured up to her fantasy. Measured up…. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, wasn’t that an appropriate phrase?  
  
“I thought ya meant dat chere, it’d hurt my feelin’s.” He skimmed a finger over her shoulder and down her arm, “Guess if you’re gonna be stubborn, we can move on.” He leaned over and kissed her softly, “Where were we?”  
  
Now at least she knew exactly what to do. She grabbed his arm and dragged him back over to her for a real kiss. All these soft kisses and light touches were making her jumpy, she wanted the urgency back. Taking his hair in her hands, she deepened the kiss and tossed a leg over his hip to draw herself closer to him.  
  
He was cute when he was playful, it was a side he’d never shown her before, but she couldn’t let herself get attached to him. She couldn’t keep him, didn’t want that kind of commitment. Casual sex could be fun, easy. No strings, mutual fulfillment. That was the goal. All she had to do was rekindle that fire in him and she had a good idea how to start.  
  
Remy had no trouble with casual sex, he’d enjoyed plenty of it in his life and knew how to keep it fun, easy and relaxed, but the way she batted aside even the barest of intimacies shot up red flags. He wanted her too badly to stop now, but she struggled against anything that could be interpreted as romantic. That told him just how her sexual encounters had gone in the past and he wasn’t interested in a quick get off and get out session, not with her.  
  
If he hadn’t known her that would have been different, he wouldn’t have felt any compulsion to show her something better, but this was home for them both. Whatever happened now would set the tone for how they interacted later. He wanted more from her than insults. He wanted to somehow better what little relationship they had and that trust had to start somewhere.  
  
Compromise. He would give her everything she wanted, and she would have to deal with the little flourishes he added. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.  
  
He drew her leg further up his side and shifted, rolling her onto her back while he pressed her into the bed. Testing, gauging even as he took pleasure from the contact. He would give her fast, he’d give her hard and all the heat she could stand, but it would be his way.  
  
Whatever was going through her head, it didn’t seem to be negative. She gasped, moaned, squirmed a little, and wrapped her other leg around him. Better. He could work with that. Responsive, receptive, and he hoped, distracted enough to let him gentle his hands at least.  
  
He thought touching a woman to be one of life’s greatest pleasures. He enjoyed the soft, fragrant skin, the differences between her body and his own too much to treat her so harshly. Maybe in the heat of passion he would grab a little harder than necessary, but overall he preferred to seduce his lovers rather than revert to what he thought of as cave man type antics.  
  
Casual sex it may be, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t have a little bit of class.  
  
Kissing her again, he let her take it deeper as she wanted it, where she could be comfortable. Her comfort was paramount, and then of course, the ever looming goal. He couldn’t forget the end game, oh no, not with her wrapped around him, her mouth fused to his. Her heat stoked his own needs and for the time being, for their first encounter, he was willing to focus on that heat.  
  
Looking at that more closely would just upset him, so he ignored the fact that he was already thinking about sleeping with her again. He hadn’t even seriously gotten started this time. It was time to rectify that. In a quick battle for domination, he nipped at her bottom lip, and could have purred in triumph when she quickly gave in. He’d been expecting a little more fight, but when they were both so wound up, fighting was probably the last thing on her mind.  
  
Changing the angle of the kiss, he used tongue and teeth to distract, and slid inside her. There was no hesitation, no adjustment period. She wanted it all and he gave it, burying himself inside her. He felt her gasp, tasted the satisfaction in it as her arms rose to encircle him. She was wrapped around him, in every possible way, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt better.  
  
Her head thrown back, she dragged in mouthfuls of air. It was almost surreal, after so long, it had finally happened. No more teasing, no more games, she had him, at least for the night.  
  
It was the most glorious night of her life.  
  
She thought she was prepared, thought she knew what to expect, but even as good as he’d initially felt, it was nothing compared to how she felt when he actually started to move. Given his kisses, she’d thought she would have to prod him along, but the pace, the force stole her breath, though she managed to find enough to moan out her pleasure. She hadn’t known it could feel like this, that she could feel like this.  
  
Even with him over her, in her, Bronwyn felt strong, powerful, and her nails dug into his back where she clung, desperate for more contact. He was hovering over her, but she didn’t want that, didn’t want that distance between them. Skin and heat, breath and this incredible friction they made between them. It was good, it was too good.  
  
She’d been worked up since she’d gotten to the club, dancing with him, playing with him, his hands and mouth between her legs… She couldn’t keep up. She could feel herself rising, could feel the sensations building rapidly until she had to struggle to hold it back. Too soon. It had just started, it couldn’t end so soon. Fuck but she couldn’t help it. There was too much pent up inside her and her breath tore out on a scream.  
  
He’d had more than a few lovers, he’d taken and been taken with equal fervor, but for all his experience, Remy couldn’t stand against the raw power in her. He didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. White hot pleasure, hers, slammed into him, swamped him and he’d had no choice but to fall over that edge with her.  
  
Not that he tried all that hard to fight it, who in their right mind would? But her feelings only amplified his own. It was true that he tended to cheat a little during sex; his empathy helped him understand what his partner liked, what they wanted, without them having to tell him. It had gained him a reputation that amused him, that he took pride in. No one knew that while he was so focused on pleasing someone else, he was also pleasing himself.  
  
This time it went beyond simple pleasure. It was rare for him to feel so intensely that his own control would be snapped. He had no problem coming with his partner if they could manage it, sometimes he even preferred it, but he hadn’t had a choice this time. Strange as it was, he kind of liked it…  
  
Bronwyn had heard all of the clichés about orgasms, how the good ones could make you go blind, deaf, how they could leave you floating on your own personal cloud of bliss. She’d thought it was bullshit, crap authors came up with to add interest to their romance novels. She’d gotten off with other people, what was the point of having sex if you didn’t? But nothing had ever felt like that. It left her wondering if maybe the clichés weren’t based somewhere in fact.  
  
She could hear Remy breathing in her ear, so she wasn’t deaf, but she’d have sworn for a minute she’d gone blind, and she did feel a little floaty, but maybe she was just light headed from almost hyperventilating. The floaty sensation was nice, a little confusing as she could feel him, a dead weight pressing her into the mattress. So that’s why she was having a hard time catching her breath.  
  
Breathing was important, but how could she complain about having him sprawled out on top of her. He’d pretty much collapsed on top of her. She could indulge herself with a small little smirk over that. It wasn’t like he could see her anyway. He seemed to be sort of, maybe, slightly, unconscious. Was it that good for him too? Hot damn!  
  
There was a victory dance in her future, but for now she would settle for touching him as she hadn’t gotten to before.  
  
Her hands stroked possessively over his shoulders, down his back, coming up briefly to twine in that thick, damp hair, before getting up the nerve to touch his very fine ass. She made fun of his thief getup, he was a man and it was skin tight for God’s sake, but it showed off his ass nicely. A feature she could now appreciate up close and in person.  
  
The thought struck her light lightning and had another hot bolt of lust singing along her nerve endings; she was touching him. She’d just had sex with Remy LeBeau and she had her hands on his ass. Squealing would have been mortifying, so she bit her lip to keep her giddiness contained. It was stupid to get all excited over it now that it was done and over with, but she’d done it! She’d gotten him into bed and had just had the best, mind numbing sex of her life.  
  
She wanted to curl up into a ball and hug herself, but that was impossible as he was still on top of her, still inside her. She shuddered and arched up into him again. He was still inside her, and now she wanted him again. She’d always been a bit of a nympho, but come on!  
  
Sleep had eluded him, though he did get a moment of self satisfied dozing. His brain had needed to reboot and had been helped on its way by a pair of small hands stroking him back to wakefulness. He doubted she knew he was awake with the way she was touching him, kneading his back, lingering along his spine before ultimately palming his ass. He smiled against her neck and just laid still. If he moved he would startle her and she would probably want to stop.  
  
He was afraid she would get awkward if she knew, but he’d felt that familiar stirring in her and smiled. If she still wanted him, he wouldn’t feel bad about still wanting her. He certainly didn’t feel bad when he shifted his hips to grind himself against her. She would be twice as sensitive this time around… Wasn’t that promising?  
  
She moaned against his hair and tightened her grip on him, “bloody hell. How’re you still…?”  
  
“Could ask you de same thing, but I won’t complain if you won’t.”  
  
“You hear me complaining?”  
  
He rose up on his elbows, his smile smug and satisfied, “think ya can go another round den?”  
  
Looking up into those eyes, his hair hanging loosely around his face where she’d yanked it free of its tie, she felt a smirk come over her face and she dragged him down for a rough kiss. “Bring it on pretty boy.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Logan sat in the kitchen, alone, as he liked it, drinking his first cup of coffee and reading the morning paper. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so the coffee was strong with a shot of whiskey. Tired was something he was familiar with, but this morning it was making him grouchy, well…more so than usual.  
  
He felt guilty about sending Bronwyn after Remy and knew that whatever the outcome, he was in for it this morning.  
Logan didn’t like guilt, and he really didn’t like being kept up at night by it. It was enough to make him want to punch Scott, not that he ever really needed a reason to want that, but seeing the man had already brought in the paper, a job he normally did himself, just pissed him off further.  
  
He enjoyed the solitude of the walk down the drive to get the paper, the air was cool and fresh and soothing, and he had nothing more important to think about than the sun just beginning to peek over the trees, and the occasional glimpse of wildlife. Those moments calmed the beast inside, and these days, he wasn’t getting enough of them. This morning he wouldn’t get one at all, thanks to Ol’ One Eye and whatever the hell had gotten him out of bed to invade Logan’s private time…  
  
He was unaware that he was growling into his coffee mug while he tried to concentrate on the sports section. He didn’t care about basketball dammit. Why couldn’t they ever have interesting sports in the paper? Like hockey. Now that was a game! The cold of the arena and the ever present threat of violence on thin, sharp edged blades… Who wouldn’t enjoy that?  
  
Well, Remy he reasoned, annoyed that the man and the predicament were once more dominating his thoughts. Remy turned into the abominable snow man whenever there was any mention of cold. He tried to imagine him in an arena, decked out in so many layers he waddled when he walked. It made a fun picture, and brightened his mood a little. He would have to coerce him into going one of these days and then he’d seen how close his imagination had come.  
  
Someone else came into the kitchen and he growled again. The walk was taken from him, now he couldn’t even enjoy his paper in peace. What the hell? The one day he desperately needed solitude and everyone and his damn brother had to get up early. No one got up early around here! Besides himself anyway.  
  
The scent caught him before he barked out a command for whoever it was to ‘go the fuck away and leave me the fuck alone’. It was warm, carrying the faint hint of leather and spice, and of course, the cigarettes he favored. Logan bent his paper down so he could see Remy over the top of it, and smiled. Reeked of sex, not that he needed his nose to know what the Cajun had been doing all night.  
  
Logan knew Remy had gotten very little sleep, but he didn’t look a damn bit tired. No. Annoying little brat walked with a spring in his step. Logan might hate him for that, if he wasn’t so worried about Remy hating him first. He wasn’t speaking to him, didn’t even glance at him. Alright, there was some mad there. He’d just have to goad him into talking, he’d yell a little and then they would both feel better.  
  
“Long night Rem?”  
  
Remy shot him a look over his shoulder and went back to ignoring him. He bypassed the coffee and went right for where he knew it would hurt. He went to the fridge and pulled out the makings for breakfast. The man was so pitiful he had a hard time with cereal, and maybe Remy wanted to torture him a little. It was no more than he deserved.  
  
Did he regret sleeping with Bronwyn? A little, only because she was and still would be one of his students, even after their interlude. She’d been game, and God knew he’d needed it, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Logan had set him up, and betrayal wasn’t something Remy forgave easily.  
  
Oh, he would forgive the burly Canadian, he already knew that. Logan was the best friend he’d ever had, which only made this hurt all the more. When you trusted someone enough to be weak in front of them, you should damn well expect them to respect you enough to keep it to themselves. But Logan hadn’t done that.  
  
Remy had promised his friend that he would try to get to know Bronwyn and he’d planned on it, he’d tried, but every attempt had been met with sarcasm and that hard assed sneer. He’d wanted to get to know her before making any brash decisions, like dragging her off to his room and having his way with her. She just hadn’t been cooperative.  
  
He’d planned to give it a little time, think about the best way to approach her, to break down the walls that made her be such a pain in the ass. He’d watched her, and knew she could be a good friend. She was friends with Kitty, Jubes, Bobby, even Erika. And that was a friendship that sometimes left him baffled.  
  
The two women were complete opposites. Bronwyn was loud, overly opinionated, sometimes a little rude. Erika could be all of those things if she wanted to be, but the Parisian preferred to conduct herself as a lady. That was strange for around here, but she was a nice person, and she had a great voice. Physically the two shared the same height, but their taste in clothes differed as drastically as their temperaments, not to mention their body types. One preferred period gowns, and the other…well…her tastes fluctuated.  
  
They had a great relationship, and that’s what Remy had wanted. He’d wanted to be her friend before taking that next step, but that choice had been taken from him and he couldn’t forget that it had been Logan’s doing.  
  
Alright, Logan thought, so he’s a little pissed, he’ll ignore me for a while and then- He’s making breakfast! The quick surge of happiness crashed down around his ears when he saw Remy only pulling out enough for one. Oh that wasn’t fair… He’d sit and eat in front of him. And he was making Logan’s favorite breakfast, pancakes, eggs, and bacon.  
  
He wanted to whine, but his dignity wouldn’t allow it. The kid was just being a little mean, maybe he had a right to be. It just felt strange, wrong, coming from Remy. He could be hard, with a life like his he’d had to be, but that was rare these days, and no matter what else he was, Remy wasn’t a mean person. Somehow Logan would have to make it up to him, if the damn Cajun would ever just speak to him…  
  
As the scents of food reached his nose, Logan’s stomach growled, adding embarrassment to the oily sense of guilt that had been plaguing him all night. He wouldn’t beg, even though those smells were giving him a one track mind, but he would apologize, as much as it galled him.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry all right?”  
  
“No you’re not,” came the soft reply, “you’re just hungry.”  
  
Damn, kid knew him too well. “I am,” Logan nodded, folding the paper closed and laying it aside, “but I’m still sorry. You’ve got every right to be mad at me.”  
  
“An you had no right sendin’ her after me.” Careful to take the food off the heat, Remy turned to face him, “I promised you I would try, an I was. I wasn’t flirtin’ wit’ her, or pawin’ at her, but I was tryin’ ta talk ta her. Jus’ cause you didn’t see it, didn’t mean I wasn’t. I keep my word.”  
  
The implication was clear, and as much as Logan wanted to be mad that Remy would suggest he’d broken his word to his friend, hadn’t he done just that? They were friends with each other because they both knew how to keep their mouths shut. That’s why they could tell each other everything they had, because they knew it would go no further. Logan hadn’t told Bronwyn anything really, but he’d still broken a confidence, and now he was a little afraid Remy wouldn’t trust him anymore.  
  
Logan didn’t like fear, hated it, more than he hated feeling guilty. It pissed him off and made him defensive, more so now because he knew he was the one in the wrong. “I didn’t like seein’ you like that, so I fixed it.”  
  
“You fixed it?!” Remy demanded. “Lemme tell ya what she did. She sneaks up on me in de club, don’t even got de damn decency ta lemme know it’s her, and she’s all over me. Not knowin’ it’s her, I give it right back. Didn’t know until I kissed her- Not a word!” He interrupted himself, glaring dangerously at his friend who was making noise like a choking cat as he tried to hold in his laughter, “It ain’t funny.”  
  
“You had no right, either a you.”  
  
Managing to swallow down his amusement, Logan tried to look suitably chastised. “I was worried about you.”  
  
“An a course, ya thought sex was de answer ta dat.”  
  
“Isn’t it always an answer for you? No.” He realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth and he tried to backtrack. “Shit. Remy, I didn’t mean it like that.” Logan wasn’t sure whether to bang his head on the table or stab himself with a fork. He’d seen the flash of hurt in Remy’s eyes before he’d turned back to the stove. How was it he was only making this worse? All he’d wanted was to help!  
  
“I meant that it helps you feel better. You do feel better, I can tell. You don’t look as tired as you did, or as sad.” Or he hadn’t before the poor choice of words. He’d been angry, not sad… “I shouldn’t have done it, all right? I knew as soon as I told her that I shouldn’t had, but dammit Rems, you’re not takin’ care of yourself.”  
  
“You think taking care of myself means me sleeping with one of my students?”  
  
“Of course not.” Logan wanted to growl, he wanted to pout, he wanted to go hide in his room until Remy got over being mad at him. He wasn’t built for emotional displays, all this trying to explain himself was confusing him, frustrating him, and he was only digging the hole deeper. Didn’t Remy know he was horrible with words? “You wouldn’t do that, I know that, but Gumbo you were hurtin’ yourself over this and I just wanted it to stop.”  
  
Hurting himself… Remy supposed, in a way, that’s exactly what he’d been doing. He hadn’t been eating right, hadn’t been sleeping, agonizing over every little thing like it was the end of the world. He’d been tired and stressed, holing himself up in his room when typically he was a social animal. He hadn’t thought Logan would notice, hell, he hadn’t noticed it himself, but apparently Logan thought he needed a keeper.  
  
He wanted to stay mad, but he couldn’t. Not when he could feel the riotous emotions that were slowly making Logan sick with worry. Logan didn’t get sick, and he didn’t do emotions. That he was doing both on his account, well… He couldn’t stay mad at him. The worry was genuine, as was the guilt, and the sadness. It helped, knowing Logan felt bad about it, but that didn’t help Remy with his current problem. What did he do now?  
  
Sighing, he turned off the stove and took two plates to the table, shoving one across the table to the feral. A peace offering, he supposed. After all, Logan had said he was sorry… He should write down the day. Logan had actually apologized to him.  
  
Sneaky thief, he’d been making enough for the both of them, even while they’d fought. Logan purred with affection and happiness while he drenched his plate in maple syrup. He’d been watching him, he’d seen him only grab a little of everything, and didn’t know how he’d done it, but he couldn’t argue with the results. He hadn’t gotten any sleep, but he’d made up with his friend, and he was getting breakfast. Not a bad trade.  
  
“At the risk of pissin’ you off again,” Logan muttered between bites, “How’d it go?”  
  
“Ya already know how it went.”  
  
There he was, there was his Cajun. Logan laughed at the smirk, the smug little tone to his voice. Of course he knew he’d been waiting up just to make sure they came in, and came in together. He’d been prepared to go get one of the other of them if they’d come in alone, but he hadn’t had to. He’d heard them in the hallway, and thankfully it had gotten quieter when they’d gone in the bedroom, and then the yelling started. Angry yelling wasn’t usually something he heard when Remy brought someone home. He’d been tempted to go check on them, but then the moaning started again and there was no way in hell he was going down that hallway.  
  
He was glad they’d finally gotten over their bullshit, but did they have to be so loud? He could count the number of times, which as much as he cared about them, was something he definitely didn’t want in his head. Not to mention the bonus round in the shower. All Remy’s fault, he decided, he knew Logan would hear and wanted to torture him…  
“The volume was on purpose wasn’t it?”  
  
“Ain’t my fault, I didn’t know she was a screamer.”  
  
“Whoa!” Logan held up his hands to his ears, “some things I don’t need to know.”  
  
“You already know,” Remy repeated with a shrug, “And we’ll consider this payback.”  
  
“Yeah, but I can pretend I don’t know the girl if you keep the details to yourself.” They were alright now, Logan let his shoulders slump in relief. He’d been afraid he was going to lose his friend over this, if a few shots was all Remy was going to take, he’d consider himself lucky.  
  
He polished off his breakfast and took his plate to the sink to wash. Considering, he walked back over and stopped beside his chair, “Was thinkin’ about a movie night… You in?”  
  
Remy smiled at his plate and sat quietly for a minute, knowing it would irritate the impatient Canadian. It was Logan’s version of a peace offering, and he wasn’t low enough to refuse it. His own relief was as strong as what was coming from his friend, and he was glad that Logan would make the effort. “Yeah mon ami, I’m in. I’ll bring de beer, you pick de movie.”  
  
“Great. I’ll see ya in class.”  
  
Shaking his head, Remy finished his own breakfast and washed up the rest of the dishes. He was going to pick The Shining. He could tell from his grin… What was he going to do with him?  


 

~*~

There was a bit of free time between breakfast and their first class. Erika found it the perfect opportunity to pounce on her friend. Bronwyn had disappeared after dinner and hadn’t gone back to her room, she’d checked that morning and the bed wasn’t slept in. Not that Bronwyn made the bed. She was, as she liked to say, artistically messy. Erika just called it messy, but somehow her friend managed to find everything she needed, even in the disarray, so she had no room to comment.  
  
When she hadn’t found her in her room, Erika had gone straight to the Medbay, worried that maybe she’d gotten sick, but Hank hadn’t seen her either. Where had she gone, and why hadn’t she mentioned she was going? It made Erika pout prettily, thinking that her friend was keeping secrets. She’d assumed they were closer than that.  
  
Her blue eyes narrowed as the woman in question dropped down in a chair beside her with a muffin and one of Jubilee’s apple juice boxes. She eyed the red head speculatively and shifted in her chair. “Where have you been?” Erika demanded in her soft voice, her anger thickening her French accent.  
  
“I’ve looked all over for you! I thought you were hurt or…” She broke off, studying Bronwyn closely. She was wearing fresh clothes, and she smelled like she’d showered, though the scent wafting delicately from her skin and hair wasn’t her usual. The cat that ate the canary smile was a little irritating, but she couldn’t focus seriously on her questioning. There was something familiar about that smell…  
  
“Sorry,” Bronwyn grinned, “I was a little ‘busy’ last night.”  
  
“Busy?” The dark haired girl echoed slowly, “tell me you didn’t go out and meet some strange man! You know how dangerous that is! And certainly the Professor would not have approved.”  
  
“Professor didn’t know,” she smiled, “and he wasn’t a stranger, but he was a little dangerous.”  
  
The tone, Bronwyn’s smug look and relaxed posture, told Erika that she’d slept with someone. She could disapprove for all the good it did her, not that her friend would pay any mind to her opinions on certain matters. Erika was a lady and didn’t believe a lady should just… The appropriate phrase eluded her, even in her mind, but she certainly didn’t view sex as casually as Bronwyn did.  
  
“You could have been hurt,” she chastised, her dark curls falling over her shoulders as she shook her head in exasperation. “And you just left. No note, no voice mail, nothing!”  
  
“Like you actually check your phone,” Bronwyn snorted. “You barely use the thing. I don’t know why you have it.”  
  
“I use it on occasion,” she corrected, pointing a finger at the other girl, “and don’t change the subject. I was worried about you.”  
  
“Don’t be,” she hummed lazily, stretching slowly, “I’m absolutely fine, wonderful in fact. I was perfectly safe, and deliciously used. Three times as a matter of fact, four, if you count the shower a little bit ago. I feel like I could run a marathon, not that that’ll be happening any time soon.”  
  
“Tell me you didn’t go meet some strange man to aggravate this thing with Remy? He won’t be happy when he finds out you endangered yourself to get his attention.”  
  
“I’ve had his attention for the better part of ten hours,” Bronwyn smirked, “and his hands, his mouth, and-”  
  
“You slept with Remy!?” Erika hissed, lowering her voice and leaning close to try to keep their conversation private. At least now she understood the smell. She smelled like his soap. “He’s your teacher!”  
  
“Please,” the red head snorted, taking a bite of muffin. After her late night bout of exercise, she was starved, not tired though she’d only gotten a couple hours sleep, but she could definitely use more than a muffin and considered actually eating breakfast for once. “Like you’ve never thought about it.”  
  
“I’ve never thought about sleeping with Remy!” Erika said, offended. She didn’t think of Remy that way, and she could appreciate his looks, but she would never seriously entertain improper thoughts about a man she knew her friend fancied. “What kind of friend do you think me?”  
  
“Not Remy. Logan. And if you tell me you haven’t I’ll be forced to call you a liar. You stare at him all the time and flirt in that prissy way of yours. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”  
  
“He is not my teacher. I don’t take classes here,” the Parisian sniffed, “you cannot say the same.”  
  
“You don’t take classes,” Bronwyn said, “but Logan’s still teaching you to fight, that makes him your teacher. You’ve got the hots for yours like I do mine. Now do you want details or not?”  
  
Considering, Erika bit her lip and glanced around the common room. There were people about, but most of them were either half asleep or scrambling to finish homework. They could talk if they kept their voices down, but the thought of discussing such a private thing in a room full of people made her blush. “Shouldn’t we wait until this evening when we can talk in your room?”  
  
“Oh c’mon! Don’t make me wait all day.”  
  
“You just want to brag.”  
  
“Maybe a little,” Bronwyn laughed, “but I would like your opinion on a few things.” She gave her the quick version, from sneaking into the club until she’d stumbled out of Remy’s shower not even an hour ago. “He kept trying to…”  
  
“To what?” Erika couldn’t help her curiosity, though she highly disagreed with her friend’s handling of the situation. Such matters never called for deception, it seemed rather distasteful, but Bronwyn didn’t seem to have a problem with that part. “Did he hurt you?”  
  
“No, it’s not that. He’s…very attentive in bed. It’s just that, well, he kept kissing me and like caressing me and stuff. All soft like.”  
  
“The nerve of the man!” Erika drew herself up, “who does he think he is, showering a lover with intimacy and respect? He should be lynched!”  
  
“Alright smart ass.” Bronwyn wanted to grumble, but sarcasm was so unusual on her well mannered friend that it made her laugh instead. “I’m just saying it made me uncomfortable.”  
  
Erika knew that Bronwyn was a closet romantic. She liked romance books, preferred her movies with happy endings, and deep down, she wanted the kind of relationship you found in fairy tales. However, she refused to admit such things, scoffed publicly at intimate displays, and generally tried to act like she neither wanted nor needed real intimacy.  
  
Her heart ached for her stubborn friend, especially knowing how she craved such things even as she feared them.  Erika understood the reasons for her fear, the reasoning for the walls she hid behind, but Bronwyn had pursued Remy. He was known for his causal affairs, that was true, but the man had his own romantic streak. Why seek him out if that’s not what she was interested in?  
  
Perhaps she was the tiniest bit biased. She liked Remy, he was amusing, he was one of the few people that could converse with her in her native language, and he had a tendency to treat Erika in particular with an old world type of chivalry she adored. A gentleman he could be, but the man was hopeless when it came to art. He could identify a fake from an original piece of work from across a museum gallery and then rattle off how much the pieces were worth, both fake and masterpiece, but he held a paint brush like it was a grenade. She’d seen toddlers do better finger paintings.  
  
She had been thrilled when he’d invited her to help with the actual art portion of his art class. She loved to paint, and to draw, and she found it fun to explore other mediums with his class. They worked well together; she saved him from art projects, and she got to learn some interesting things from him, as well as listening to some amusing stories from his life as a thief.  
  
To think she would be acquainted with a thief of all things, but she enjoyed him. He was a good match for Bronwyn, though they could both be frighteningly stubborn. He was a good man, and Bronwyn deserved that, someone that would care for her, and more importantly, show her she deserved being cared for. Perhaps they could help each other as she’d noticed Remy had similar insecurities himself.  
  
“Why should it make you uncomfortable when a man wants to show you how much he likes and respects you?”  
  
“Because that’s not what I want!” Bronwyn pouted, “I want physical. I want hot jungle sex, not afternoon tea and a lovemaking session in front of a fireplace.”  
  
“The fact that you would have so much detail about that particular scenario suggests that you do want that, at least a little. And why wouldn’t you? Why must it only be about needs met? We’re mutants, but we’re humans at the core of it, we have emotional needs just have we have physical ones.”  
  
“I don’t want emotional ones. Especially not with him. He’s a womanizer, he has a different woman every week.”  
  
“I’m forced to point out, that you went after him,” Erika said mildly. “Pointing out his flaws after you slept with him hardly seems fair. He took pains not to touch you, so you can’t really hold all that against him.”  
  
“Whose side are you on?”  
  
“I like you both, so I’m not choosing a side. Perhaps instead of viewing your relationship as a battle, you should get to know him a little better.”  
  
“We don’t have a relationship!”  
  
“And whose fault is that? You don’t want to have a relationship with a smart, funny, interesting man because you’re afraid of intimacy. That doesn’t sound like you. You shouldn’t deny yourself something good simply because you’re afraid.”  
  
“I’m not afraid,” Bronwyn gaped, appalled that she would insinuate such a thing. “I’m not afraid of him or anything else.”  
  
“Reevaluate this conversation,” her friend smiled softly and patted her hand, “and see how it reads to you. Whatever you decide, I want what makes you happy and I believe he could make you very happy if you would give him a chance. I’ll see you at lunch.”  
  
Bronwyn watched her go with the usual flares of affection and jealousy. She loved Erika, there was nothing they couldn’t tell each other, but her perfection had a tendency to piss Bronwyn off. Gypsy-like dark curls, and heartbreakingly blue eyes, she was a perfect package draped in fashions of a bygone era. Yet it suited her completely, right down to her siren voice…  
  
Sighing with envy, she crammed the rest of her muffin in her mouth and gathered her books. Maybe if she looked like her she would want a relationship, but no one would ever seriously want her. She knew how to use clothes and makeup to make herself noticeable, but she knew she wasn’t beautiful enough to hold someone’s attention for long.  
  
Certainly not a man like Remy. He was gorgeous. He could have his pick of women, or men if the rumors she’d heard had any truth to them. She was setting herself up for heartbreak if she was foolish enough to let herself hope that maybe he would want more than sex from her.  
  
What if he did? That brought on a whole new level of fear. She didn’t know how to be in a relationship. She was rude and selfish and had an attitude problem. She didn’t like discussing or conferring with others about her life or her decisions. When it came right down to it, she wasn’t built for a long standing relationship. That just wasn’t in the cards for her. So she would enjoy him for as long as she could, and they would go their separate ways.  
  
It was best for everyone, so why did the idea of it make her feel so terribly lonely? She didn’t need him, she reminded herself, swiping angrily at her eyes, she did just fine on her own. She didn’t need anyone…


	8. Chapter Eight

Night had fallen, the kids were either in bed, or in their rooms working on homework or whatever kids did at the end of the day. Remy was in the rec room, on the couch with Logan, his eyes locked unblinking on the screen while his hand kept a death grip on his second bottle of beer.  
  
The Shining, Remy had known Logan would pick that one. For some reason it was his favorite. Remy liked Stephen King movies as much as the next guy, but there was something about this one that freaked him out. He’d seen it, over and over again, usually at Logan’s request, and the creepy kids and the axe wielding psycho always sent his imagination into hyper drive.  
  
It wasn’t even close to the end of the movie and he was already imagining himself walking up that staircase in the dark and having something jump out at him. He wasn’t proud of his anxiety, he liked scary movies! But this one always did this to him. Maybe it wasn’t so much fear as anticipation of a potential scare.  
  
The first time they’d watched this movie together, Logan had gone up first, shortly after the movie had ended and had been waiting for Remy at the top of the stairs with a mask and a fake axe. He’d very nearly given Remy a heart attack, after almost falling down the stairs, after blowing a hole in one of the walls where he’d instinctively tossed a few of his cards after coming face to face with what he thought was a crazy killer from the movie.  
  
God, that had been mortifying, hearing Logan howl with laughter while Remy sat on his sore ass where he’d fallen, trying to calm his racing heart. Sure Logan been concerned after, but apparently amusement outweighed it. Ever since, Logan would periodically play a similar trick on him, and he was always on the lookout when they watched this movie.  
  
A hand dropped onto his shoulder, the shoulder opposite Logan. Instantly, he knew it wasn’t his friend, so he did what any person would do that was sitting in the dark, already wound tighter than a bow string. He yelped and lunged forward away from the hand.  
  
The lamp beside the couch was flicked on, temporarily blinding Remy, and once again there was that damned roaring laugh. He could learn to hate that sound. Blinking shielded eyes, Remy turned from where he knelt in front of the couch to see Erika standing behind it, her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her own giggles.  
  
“What de hell?” He demanded, rising to his feet. “What is it ‘bout dis movie? We ain’t never watchin’ dis no more.” He said to Logan.  
  
“Forgive me,” Erika managed between gasping breaths, “but I wondered if I might have a word? I didn’t mean to scare you mon ami…”  
  
Grumbling, he kicked Logan on principle and followed the still chuckling girl from the room. “What?” He asked, leaning back against the wall.  
  
“I truly am sorry,” she smiled softly, “I didn’t realize I would scare you. I wanted to ask you about Bronwyn.”  
  
“What ‘bout her?” He asked slowly. He didn’t know what, if anything she’d told her friend. They hadn’t exactly discussed what was to be done about their situation. Did they keep it discreetly between the two of them, or did it matter if other people knew? Remy wasn’t worried about himself, he had a bad enough reputation around here as it was, this could hardly hurt him, but he was worried about her. He should have asked her if she wanted to keep this private, but he’d been a little preoccupied in the shower…  
  
Pleased that he hadn’t just blurted everything out, Erika laid a hand on his arm, “I know, she told me. About the two of you I mean. I’m happy for you both.”  
  
“Don’t get ahead a yourself chere. Dere’s nothin’ ta be happy for. We slept together, dat’s pretty much it.”  
  
“Is that all you want?” She asked curiously, tilting her head. She sincerely hoped not, but if he felt similarly to Bronwyn, she would have little choice but to stay out of it.  
  
“I’d say dat’s up ta her,” Remy shrugged. Talking about the shift in dynamic between them was still a little uncomfortable for him. One part of his mind still saw her as his student, but the majority of him was looking at her in a whole new way. Balancing the two was proving to be difficult. “She started dis thing up. Whatever happens next, or don’t, is up ta her.”  
  
Equal parts pleased and miffed with his answer and his attitude, she folded her arms across her chest, “you don’t intent to pursue her?”  
  
“Chere, I never intended ta lay hands on her at all.” He sighed and shoved his hands through his hair, a sure sign of his growing frustration. “I been tryin’ ta talk ta her, ta get ta know her, but she’s blockin’ me at every turn. She don’t want me ta get ta know her. I don’t know what else I can do.”  
  
“You’ve already slept with her Remy, that kind of intimacy leaves an opening I would think.”  
  
“You’d think,” he nodded, “but she don’t want intimacy, not from me anyway. I’d try ta be gentle wit’ her an she’d get pissed at me.”  
  
“Things like this are…difficult for her,” Erika said hesitantly. “Bronwyn, she…”  
  
“It’s alright Cherie.” Remy rubbed a hand gently along her arm, “ya don’t gotta say it. I wouldn’t ask ya ta betray a confidence. I already know why she fights it so hard.”  
  
Shocked, Erika’s mouth fell open, “S-She told you?”  
  
“Didn’t need to. I know de signs. I got no intention a hurtin’ her Erika, if dat’s de point ta all dis.”  
  
“Is it your intention to keep your relationship based solely on the physical?”  
  
“Until she says otherwise, we don’t got a relationship.” The sharp retort in French had Remy lifting an eyebrow in question. “You disagree?”  
  
“The two of you,” she huffed, “honestly. You listen to me,” she said briskly, poking him in the chest, “it will be easier on her to keep you at arm’s length. Don’t let her. Don’t let her make it all about sex Remy, that isn’t what she needs, and deep down, it’s not what she wants.”  
  
“She’s got dem walls chere, until she’s ready ta let me in, dere ain’t much I can do.”  
  
“You’re a thief,” she snapped, “walls shouldn’t be an issue for you. She expects to mean nothing to you, prove her wrong. If you can’t do that, stay away from her.”  
  
“Dis ain’t my fault!”  
  
“Non,” she agreed, “she started it, as you said. Now it’s up to you. Don’t let it be about sex Remy, she’s been used enough in her life. That is all I have to say on the matter.”  
  
Sighing out a breath, Remy watched her walk away and went back to the couch and his beer. The movie was forgotten as he contemplated her words. Erika was to Bronwyn, what Logan was to him. She was her best friend, her confidant, a sister in heart not blood. He took her words seriously, but what was he to do about it? He wouldn’t force Bronwyn into something she didn’t want, and God knew he couldn’t change her even if he wanted to.  
  
Grabbing his third and final beer, Remy took a long swallow and tipped his head back against the couch. “Nothin’ ta add?” He asked Logan, almost desperate for an opinion.  
  
“Lots of opinions Gumbo,” the feral smiled in sympathy, “but none that would help you, I don’t think. I’m tryin’ to stay out of your love life.”  
  
“Too late for dat. You got me into dis mess, you can help me figure it out.”  
  
“Rem, seriously? You’re askin’ me for advice about a woman? You seen me with any lately?”  
  
“Non, but ya should get one,” Remy mused, “might make you a little less grumpy.”  
  
“Brat,” Logan groused affectionately. “I can’t do one nighters like you do. Not any more.” There had been a time, he remembered with a small smile, when he’d been as bad as Remy. Hell, come the time his other side recognized as mating season, he’d been worse than Remy ever thought about being. But just recently, in the years since he’d settled at Xavier’s, the bestial part of himself had started changing its views. It wanted a mate; one, not dozens and it would get irate to the point taking a lover had started getting dangerous. “One every now and then ain’t bad, but too many and the Wolverine starts gettin’…” He just shrugged, “It ain’t worth it for me, but you’re made different.”  
  
“Different, dat’s a word for it.” Remy knew what he meant though. His empathy made things hard for him. To be truly alone for more than a couple hours made Remy edgy, twitchy, he needed the emotions of other people to stay sane. Then again, too many would make him loose his mind. It was no wonder he was messed up.  
  
It wasn’t his empathy responsible for his one night stands, or not entirely. There was a part inside him that was forever seeking comfort and affection from others. To fight back the emptiness inside, he needed love, and the intensity that came from good sex was as close to love as he imagined he was ever going to get.  
  
There had been a time when he would have done anything to get that feeling. When he’d been living on the streets, he’d done damn near everything to get it, but it had never been enough. Lately he’d been contenting himself with the deep affection from Logan and Storm, and the camaraderie he got from most of the kids. It was better than nothing, and it kept the worst of his loneliness at bay.  
  
“I jus’ don’t wanna hurt her.”  
  
“What about her hurting you?”  
  
“I’m used ta dat Logan. Ain’t found a woman yet dat wants ta keep me. It don’t bother me so much no more.” He’d had no time with his wife, and it had taken him years to realize that while she hadn’t offered to leave with him when he’d been cast out, he hadn’t asked her to either. It had been different with Rogue, he’d loved her, he’d thought she loved him, but that wasn’t to be either. She didn’t want him enough to try and he couldn’t live that way, being so close day after day and never actually being with her.  
  
“Some a us jus’ ain’t meant ta find de big L.”  
  
As someone that had loved and lost more people than he could remember, Logan wasn’t sure what to say about that. Yes, he’d been in love, and yes he’d lost them, but he wouldn’t give up the love he’d had for them. To hear Remy say that, to know he believed it, made him sad. Rogue had really messed him up bad, worse than Logan had thought.  
  
Kid had loved her, he’d said as much, but when things had ended between them, Remy had seemed more or less all right. Maybe he should have been paying better attention. Logan worried his lip and bumped Remy’s shoulder, “Give it time Rems. You’ll find it. You’re a good lookin’ guy right? Someone’s going to notice that sooner or later.”  
  
Remy laughed, taking the offered comfort, and punched his arm, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? Loads a people notice me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Logan grinned, “but they notice me more.”  
  
“De hell you say!”  
  
“I’m more attractive than you.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Remy shook his head. “No way.”  
  
“Ask anyone.”  
  
“Who’d be a fair judge?” Remy asked, “can’t do none a de girls, dey already swoon over you.”  
  
“Yeah, and they stare at your ass, so who’s an impartial judge?”  
  
“Could use Scotty,” Remy grinned, “dat could be fun.”  
  
“Oh yeah, I can see that goin’ over real well. ‘Hey Fearless? Who’s better lookin’, me or him?’ It’d give him an aneurism or something.” The team leader was straight as a ruler, worse, he was vanilla straight. No imagination there whatsoever. Calling on him to judge a contest of looks between two of his very male teammates might push the poor bastard over the edge.  
  
“He could do wit’ a lil loosenin’ up,” Remy agreed, “get someone ta pull dat stick outta his ass an he might jus’ be attractive ‘imself.”  
  
Sitting his beer carefully on the coffee table, Logan shifted to face Remy, the movie forgotten as he checked him for signs of possession, fever, alien abduction, something  that would explain that rather disturbing sentence. “Wait…You tellin’ me you think Scott’s attractive?”  
  
“He could be,” the Cajun grinned, “but he’s gonna need some work.”  
  
Logan knew Remy looked at both men and women, he didn’t have a problem with that, it was the knowing that he’d looked at Scott that way that had him wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Seriously? You’d do that? Didn’t peg you for desperate.”  
  
“Ain’t desperate,” he laughed, “an I wouldn’t ‘do’ ‘im as you so succinctly put it. One, he’s married, I don’t mess wit’ married people when I know dey’re married beforehand. Two, didn’ ya hear me say he’s gotta stick up his ass? Ain’t no way nothin’ else could fit.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Remy!” Logan didn’t know whether to laugh or gag. “Don’t go puttin’ those pictures in my head. That is definitely not a position I want to see Scott in. Ever.”  
  
“Sounds like someone else’s gotta stick up his ass…”  
  
“Hell no,” the feral grinned, showing quite a few teeth, “I don’t bottom Cajun.”  
  
“Well dat’s no fun,” Remy grinned back, turning to face Logan and leaning back against the couch arm. “Don’t get de whole experience if ya don’t do both at least once.”  
  
“I don’t need the whole experience,” Logan shook his head, “I’ll just leave that to you.”  
  
“A de two a us, I am de most flexible. It makes sense,” he nodded. “What?” He asked, grinning brightly at Storm when she appeared in the doorway in her pajamas. He’d invited her to movie night, but as she was so late, he didn’t really think she was coming.  
  
“What?” He repeated as she just shook her head and turned back out of the room. “What’d I say?”  
  
“I think it was a combination of the whole conversation,” Logan chuckled and attempted to shove Remy’s legs off the couch so he could sit back. For all the good it did him. He sat back, but when Remy sprawled, he sprawled. He’d have taken up the whole couch if not for Logan. As it was, he had his legs stretched out over his lap.  
  
Logan didn’t mind, so long as Remy didn’t fall asleep like that. Then again…he hadn’t pranked him for some time, letting him build up a sense of security. How funny would it be to scare him while he’d passed out on the couch? Hmm….  
  


~*~

While the boys were downstairs with movies and beer, Bronwyn was up in her room, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Remy. Her homework was only half finished because she couldn’t get her mind, or her hormones, to settle enough for any serious work. She couldn’t even paint! And that was a damn shame.  
  
She was working on a painting of a big cat for art class. A black panther with red and black eyes. She’d thought about doing something amusing to let Remy know it was him, if he couldn’t figure it out with the eyes,  like add cards, throw in the little X symbol somewhere, or change the texture to make the black fur look more like leather. She’d never seen Remy in leather, but she would bet he looked sexy in it.  
  
The X-Men had their uniforms, black leather naturally, but Remy’s was different. She would have called it spandex, but he swore it wasn’t. Something from his thief days, he said. Whatever the hell that meant. He looked good in it, but the hood thing that covered most of his face and hair seemed a little weird. She wouldn’t like that at all.  
  
She was playing around with the idea of becoming an X-Man herself, and was fiddling with a uniform design of her own. Maybe she would get Erika to look at it and get her take. If she could ever bring herself to talk to her again.  
  
Afraid, she scoffed. What nonsense. She wasn’t afraid of intimacy, she had friends didn’t she? That was intimacy. And she certainly wasn’t afraid of Remy LeBeau, oh no, she had his number now. All she had to do was piss him off, lose the clothes, and she had him. Nothing to fear there at all.  
  
Annoyed, she got up and tossed her things at her desk, not really caring if they made it or not. She’d pick it up later. She was bored, wound up, and stewing over her friend’s words. She needed a distraction, but her six foot one distraction of choice was occupied downstairs with Logan. She could go see Storm, but she didn’t feel like it. Definitely wasn’t in the mood for Kitty. What she wanted was to talk to Erika, but her earlier comments were grating on her pride.  
  
Could she set pride aside in favor was alleviating boredom? Maybe…  
  
Quietly she sneaked down the hallway, so no one would hear her, and knocked lightly on Erika’s door. If she wasn’t in, she would just go back to her room and scream into a pillow or something…  
  
“Bronwyn,” Erika smiled, opening the door wide to invite her friend inside. “Do you need something?”  
  
“Yeah, I'm bored,” the red head pouted. She walked over and fell on the bed. “Entertain me.”  
  
There was always something so relaxing about Erika’s room. Like the woman herself it seemed to be from a different time, made up of furniture and fabrics that would have fit an era when women were timid, docile creatures under the thumbs of their fathers or husbands.  
  
She couldn’t imagine living that way, just because she’d been born with lady parts. Knowing Erika as she did, she couldn’t imagine her living that way either. Sure, she was polite, and quiet, and kind of sweet, but underneath the shine and polish, there was a spine Bronwyn respected. She might have been a lady, but she was also a badass, something anyone just looking at her would miss.  
  
Bronwyn liked the surprise factor in a friend, that, and the sword she used. Imagine, she grinned, a dainty little thing like her using a sword, but she did, and it was in a word, glorious…  
  
Not that women couldn’t use swords. She herself favored blades to guns, or any other weapons that she’d been trained on over the years. She had a good eye, and could hit what she aimed at, but a gun would never get the same affection from her as her swords did. She had two wickedly curved ones that fit into custom made sheaths that hung on her back. It made quite the sight if she did say so her self.  
  
“Bored already chere?” Erika laughed, perching on a part of the bed Bronwyn hadn’t taken up. “It’s only been a few hours.”  
  
“Yeah, and I can’t get the bastard out of my head. This is all your fault,” she poked the other girl in the ribs, “with your stupid ‘afraid’ talk. Now I can’t stop thinking about him.”  
  
“Do you think perhaps you can’t stop thinking of him because you like him and enjoy his company?”  
  
“Oh, I enjoy his company all right,” Bronwyn smirked, humming at the memory of those hands on her, “I would prefer to be enjoying his company right now, but he’s busy playing with Logan.”  
  
“They were watching a horror film actually,” Erika said, her tone betraying her distaste for such movies. Why would anyone want to sit in the dark and scare themselves? It made no sense to her when real life was scary enough. “I saw no games, though they might have been playing cards at some point. Remy always has those.”  
  
Amused, Bronwyn shook her head at her elegant friend, “It’s an expression sweetie. I just mean he’s down there with Logan and not up here with me.”  
  
That was one way to take it, but being the dirty minded sort, Bronwyn liked to take things a step further. The idea of Remy and Logan downstairs ‘playing’ was amusing in a way. They were two very different men and looking at them, it seemed farfetched that they would be friends let alone anything more. Remy might look at a man, but she’d never known Logan to. That would have been the perfect ammo, but now that she’d been with Remy, Bronwyn was glad that Remy’s closest friend was just a friend.  
  
No matter how much she would have enjoyed teasing them about being gay, not that she would have had a problem with it if they had been, she’d been with Remy and she didn’t want to share him with anyone, not in that way. It was a missed opportunity she could admit, and she wished she’d thought of it before when she could have gotten a few shots in. It was Logan’s reaction she was really curious about. How would he take his masculinity being questioned that way? Would he look at it as a questioning of masculinity? But she wouldn’t get a rise out of him now that he knew about her and Remy.  
  
She knew that he knew about them. He had the super hearing and stuff, and besides that, she was sure he’d gotten the story from Remy, being the best friend.  
  
How did she feel about that? There wasn’t really resentment, no bitterness, maybe a little embarrassment as Logan was her friend too and she didn’t necessarily want him to know the more intimate details of her private life, but it wasn’t all that unexpected. The two men were closer than some brothers she knew. It was kind of nice to see, when she was feeling sentimental. It was a friendship she’d envied, before she’d met Erika.  
  
Erika continued watching her even after she had fallen silent, watching emotions and thoughts play over her face. She wondered if Bronwyn knew just how much her expressions revealed to someone that knew her well. If she did, she decided, she wouldn’t be happy about it.  
  
“If you would prefer to entertain your own thoughts chere,” Erika smiled a little, “perhaps you would like to do so in your own room? I was just getting ready for bed.”  
  
And so she was, Bronwyn noticed, noting the lack of makeup and the pretty nightgown she wore. As always, she envied her friend’s looks and wished she could have even a smidgen of her classic beauty. “I could hate you,” she said, thinking aloud. She wouldn’t be so worried about this thing with Remy if she looked like that.  
  
“Hate me?!” Erika yelped, fear and confusion evident in her voice, “But…what have I done?”  
  
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Bronwyn sat up and patted her hand, “you’re so pretty. Getting ready for bed, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the whole damn house and you don’t even try. It’s really not fair. I can put in hours of work on myself and still don’t come close to looking as good as you.”  
  
Understanding, Erika smiled and tossed her hair a little. Her vanity was her greatest sin, but she could hardly help that. She liked the way she looked for the most part, and it always made her feel a little better about herself to hear someone call her beautiful. “Genetics,” she shrugged, “but you are lovely too.”  
  
Snorting, Bronwyn lifted an eyebrow and looked down at herself, “right… Tell me another one.” There were so many differences between herself and the Parisian, it was laughable. She couldn’t hold a candle to her, but had long ago set aside her bitterness there. Erika was a wonderful friend, compassionate, kind, and she would offer an ear anytime Bronwyn needed to talk, even if it was something she didn’t understand. Nothing else was more important than that.  
  
It was true that Bronwyn’s appearance was often times as crude as her language. Certainly it was different than what Erika was used to, but Bronwyn had a spirit she envied. She dyed her hair a bright, notice me, red for God’s sake. She had declared herself an individual in a sea of conformity and she had no idea how much Erika wished she had the courage to do the same.  
  
“There are so many kinds of beauty ma chere, you know this. You capture it in your paintings and drawings do you not? We do not share coloring you and I, and our styles of dress are worlds apart, but you are lovely. I see it, so does Remy.”  
  
“You’re biased and Remy wanted to get laid.”  
  
Indignation sprang up in her and though Erika wasn’t normally one for physical violence, she found herself wanting to shake the infuriating woman, perhaps slap her on the head as people around here were so fond of doing to each other. “Do you have so little regard for yourself?” She asked, her voice gone cold. “Do you truly believe he would have fought you for so long if he only wanted to ‘get laid’?”  
  
“The man I saw downstairs respects you. He could have told me everything when I asked, but he didn’t. That speaks of a person trying to look after you.”  
  
“I can look after myself!” Bronwyn insisted, trying not to snicker at hearing her well bred friend use a phrase as vulgar as ‘get laid’. Completely out of character, and seriously funny.  
  
“Obviously that is not the case when you think so little of yourself you cannot take a simple compliment!”  
  
“Wait just a damn minute,” Bronwyn said, her eyes narrowing in challenge. It had taken her a minute, but she’d zeroed in on a certain key phrase, “you went and talked to Remy about me? Why?”  
  
“Because I was concerned. You are my friend, I have every right to worry about you. But he handled the matter to my satisfaction, you on the other hand…”  
  
“Typical,” she threw her hands up in the air, hurt and anger causing a dull throb behind her eyes, "because I can never do anything right!” Bronwyn jumped off the bed and stalked toward the door. It had been a mistake to come here. She should have just left well enough alone.  
  
“Come back here this instant!” Erika snapped, spilling just a little of her power into her voice. She watched her friend struggle against her power, Bronwyn always did, but she came back to the bed and stood there glaring. “You did not let me finish.”  
  
“Why should I? So you can let me know how badly I’m fucked up? As if I don’t know that already?”  
  
“Sit down. Please?” This time Erika kept her voice soft, a question instead of a command. She didn’t like using her gift on a friend, but sometimes the woman was so stubborn that she left her no choice. “Insulting you wasn’t my intention. If you must assign blame, you chased him, so that fault is your own. Whatever happens next falls on you both. I went to speak with him because I was worried,” she said again, “and because I was curious. As much as I care for Remy, he…” She struggled to find the right words.  
  
“Sleeps around?” Bronwyn offered, smiling a little at her friend’s discomfort.  
  
“Indeed. I wanted to be sure this wasn’t simply a game to him.”  
  
Oddly touched, Bronwyn took her hand, “you were going to warn him off me?”  
  
“If I did not like his answers, yes.” She raised her chin defiantly. “You think little of yourself beyond your needs, and if you won’t look after yourself someone must. So I spoke with him, and I liked his answers, for all he’s just as stubborn as you are. I truly believe he is good for you.”  
  
“I don’t want a relationship with him. I keep telling you that.”  
  
“You don’t want a relationship because you do not believe you can have one. It’s not true. You’re capable of loving someone, and just as deserving of another’s love.”  
  
“Whoa, slow down there.” Bronwyn lifted her hands in front of her, something that felt like panic bubbling in her chest, “no one said anything about love.”  
  
“You are right,” Erika gave an almost regal incline of her head. “I am getting ahead of myself. My point is that he is a good man, one I believe you would enjoy if you would give him a chance.”  
  
“I do enjoy him. I told you that.”  
  
“You enjoy the physical aspects of the relationship.”  
  
“There’s that word again-”  
  
“But if you would talk to him without your sarcasm, and cynicism,” she went on as if Bronwyn hadn’t spoken, “I’m sure you would find a friend, not just a lover.”  
  
“But the lover is all I want. I have friends; I don’t need him to be my friend.”  
  
“What are you so afraid of?” Erika asked gently, reaching out and taking her hands, “You trust him or you would never have let him touch you. Why is it so much easier for you to let him touch your body than your heart?”  
  
“He makes me want things,” Bronwyn admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “what if I do let him in and then he doesn’t want me anymore? What do I do when he gets bored and moves on to the next girl that catches his eye? How would I survive that if I let myself fall for him?”  
  
Erika wanted to sigh, but kept it to herself. Instead, she scooted closer and enfolded her friend in an embrace and just held on.  
  
It was one thing she’d never understood about Bronwyn, the way she was always so determined to see the end before she’d even begun. Why couldn’t she see that Remy had feelings for her as well? Erika was no empath, but some things were only too obvious to a person that chose to look. Then again, fear and love had a tendency to blind, but that was alright. Erika would be her eyes until Bronwyn had enough faith in herself, and in Remy, to see it on her own.


	9. Chapter Nine

Sure that the music he was playing had masked her entrance, Bronwyn stood in a corner of the small gym they used for combat class, and watched Remy practice. Not that he needed it to her mind, she couldn’t see where he was anything but perfect with that thing, the Bo staff. It had been kind of funny to her to learn that a staff was his weapon of choice. Her first thought at seeing the thin cylindrical pole was that he was obviously trying to compensate for something.  
  
The thing was damn near as tall as he was, but there was ne denying that he was good with it and now she had the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t compensating for a thing. She bit her lip and tried to shove away that line of thought, not that it wasn’t enjoyable, but she really liked watching him. How did someone that tall move like he did?  
  
He always seemed to remind her of a cat, a great big, gorgeous cat.  
  
He even kind of acted like a cat, all self satisfied and sort of vain. That’s why she’d drawn him as a panther, they were beautiful and graceful, and dangerous. She couldn’t forget the dangerous. She’d seen that danger in him the night he’d brought her home with that light sparking in his eyes, through his hands, but she hadn’t been afraid. She’d been excited.  
  
As much as he’d annoyed her when she’d arrived, and he’d been very annoying, she’d found herself watching him even when she didn’t want to. He was an arrogant, flirting, self absorbed son of bitch that cared for nothing so much as being the center of attention. That was her first impression of him, but she was wrong. He acted like all those things, but aside from being a massive flirt, he wasn’t any of those things.  
  
It had intrigued her enough that she’d begun trying to find out about him, discreetly. He was a teacher, one she hadn’t had before so no one really found her questions suspicious and she’d taken in all the gossip, trying to sort out fact from fiction. There was a lot of fiction…  
  
But now she knew him a little, certainly better in bed, and she had every reason for her excitement. What man was seriously that flexible? It made her shiver with anticipation of getting her hands on him again. She liked the feel of all that muscle quivering because of her. It gave her a thrill she’d never gotten from any of her other lovers, but then, none of them had been what he was.  
  
He was her first mutant, the first man she’d gone into something with, knowing there was a good chance he could overpower her. Normally that would have been a deal breaker, but she’d become a little obsessed and had just had to have him. He could be annoying, but he wouldn’t hurt her, she’d come to trust that as she had little else. She trusted Remy, though in a way that was strange even to herself. She didn’t trust the man so much as his nature. He wouldn’t hurt a woman, he wasn’t made that way.  
  
No, he was a good man as Erika said, with just enough rough edges to keep Bronwyn interested. Some of those edges, she knew, were still sharp and she found herself wanting to know, but how could she ask? If she asked him things, he had every right to ask her things, and she didn’t want to talk about herself. Maybe it was hypocritical, but she could live with that. Maybe he would tell her things about himself anyway since he liked to talk to damn much.  
  
Whoa- Defensive. Not how she wanted this evening to go. Shaking her head, she focused on him and grinned. The routine was winding down, she could actually see the staff now instead of a silver blur.  
  
She hadn’t intended for this, but spur of the moment, it seemed like a great idea. Hoping the music covered her steps, she ran at his back and jumped…and landed on the padded gym floor. “What the hell?” She demanded when she got her breath back, “how did you know I was even here?”  
  
Smiling, Remy crouched over her and tapped her nose, “you’ve been here for a while,” he said, getting satisfaction from her surprised look, “you broadcast pretty loud. Ya need ta work on dat.”  
  
“Wasn’t broadcasting anything…”  
  
“Yeah ya were.” He turned the music down and sat down beside her. He’d been a little surprised when he’d felt her come in, but he hadn’t paid any attention to her. She was trying to be sneaky, it was amusing, and he wanted to see what she would do.  
  
When she’d seemed content to stand and watch, he’d gone on with his routine, maybe he’d added a few embellishments for his audience, but it had been fun and he felt pretty damn good. A workout, a pretty girl watching him, it was a good night. He’d intended to end it and ask her out to dinner, but she’d literally jumped the gun.  
  
He didn’t mind some improv, and if he hadn’t known she was there, he wouldn’t have heard her coming up behind him. Given his unfair advantage, he’d been braced when she jumped at him, and before her arms had been able to close around his neck, he’d had her flipped over his head and down on the mats. He’d considered for a second following her down, taking her mouth that was painted a pretty shade of crimson red today, but he was trying to remember Erika’s words. Not just physical…  
  
It was pretty damn hard when he wanted the physical as much as she did. He knew now how she felt under him, all the ways she moved and gasped and touched. She did things to him, brought about a keen slice of lust that hadn’t bothered him for years. Not that he didn’t still get those urges, they’d just hadn’t been so razor sharp. She’d gotten under his skin and his body, if not his mind, was quickly deciding he liked her there.  
  
He wanted her, it had been two days since they’d been together and he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. He’d been able to smell her on his sheets and that had only amped up the want into need. He needed her, but as with wants, it wasn’t always best to get what you need. He’d needed something once, and he’d gotten it. His life had been saved, but the price had been greater than anything he would have imagined. He didn’t ever want to need anything that much again.  
  
“What?” She asked. Aware that he’d gone somewhere, she poked him hard in the ribs; she wanted his attention. “What was I broadcasting?”  
  
Shaking his head to banish suddenly dark thoughts, he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, “lust was a big one. What it was don’t matter so much, it’s dat ya were. I felt you de minute ya stepped inside dat means you’re too open. Gotta get hold a yourself.”  
  
“I could be open,” she smirked, trailing a finger down his chest, “with the right motivation.”  
  
He brushed her hand away gently, ignoring the innuendo, “you’re already too open, dat’s de problem. Ain’t jus’ me dat makes you vulnerable to. Dere’s all kinds a mutants dat can use dat, telepaths, anyone wit’ de ability ta hypnotize. If you’re wantin’ ta go out in de field one day, you’re gonna have ta learn ta shield yourself. Self containment. Here,” he tapped her head, “an here.” Her heart.  
  
“I didn’t know we were still in class professor.”  
  
“Everythin’s a lesson,” he smiled and laid down beside her, stretched out on his back, “why ain’t ya wit’ de other girls? Thought dey went shoppin’.”  
  
“They did,” she shrugged and rolled over onto her side so she could see him better, “I didn’t feel like going.”  
  
“You’re missin’ out,” he chuckled, “Jubes thinks she swiped one a my bank cards.”  
  
“Thinks she did?”  
  
“She found one, it never occurs ta her dat I know she takes things from my desk drawer or dat I leave it dere knowin’ she’ll take it.”  
  
“If you know she’s going to take it and go on a massive shopping spree, why leave it in the desk?”  
  
“What ya think it’s dere for?” He asked, turning his head to smile at her, “what sane person would leave a card in a desk in a classroom? So she needs a lil money now an again, it’s just money.”  
  
“She’s stealing from you,” Bronwyn pointed out, a little confused. She would have thought he would be angry about something like that. An invasion of privacy at the very least, not to mention the amount of money Jubilee, and anyone with her, was most likely going to blow at the mall.  
  
“Oui, but I ain’t yet adult enough ta yell at her for takin’ somethin’ I leave for her. Kid ain’t had much in her life, if shoppin’ makes her happy, I like contributin’ to de cause.”  
  
“You’re a big softie,” she laughed, not realizing that her smile had gone soft. “Why not just give it to her?”  
  
“Makes her feel accomplished if she thinks she’s pulled one over on me.  She’ll go all Mission Impossible when she gets back ta put it back in de desk ‘fore mornin’. It’s kinda funny, an she’s usin’ de skills I taught her. Kinda makes me proud a her.”  
  
“You are a very strange man.” But a sweet one, she thought to herself, a kind one. Why should that touch her inside, knowing that he would do something like that for one of the kids he cared about? “Have you ever done anything like that for me?”  
  
It felt wrong, the suspiciousness of her tone, but she couldn’t help it. Had he ever done things like that for her, thinking of her as a kid he wanted to help in some way? If he had, she was going to give whatever it was he’d gotten her, or she’d gotten herself because of him, straight back to him. She didn’t want to be a kid to him anymore-  
  
“No.” Remy looked in her eyes and lied to her and didn’t feel a bit bad for it. He’d done a few things here and there, getting her bike fixed, making sure something she liked to eat was there when she looked for something. He’d gotten her a red leather jacket for Christmas but he’d left his name off the package. She wasn’t as easy as Jubes, but he’d still wanted to make her a little happy… “You’re too much of a hard ass to take things from me or anyone else.”  
  
She wasn’t quite sure she believed him, but aside from Logan’s nose, nothing else would detect a lie on him so she could either hunt Logan down to smell him, or take him at his word. Logan would lie for him, she was almost sure of it, so there was really no point. Sighing, she nodded and laid back down beside him, appalled to find that somehow her head had landed on his shoulder.  
  
What did she do now? She couldn’t move without making too much of things and looking like an idiot. If there was on thing she wouldn’t sacrifice, it was her pride. She would just wait him out… He would move eventually, or she would just have to distract him.  
  
Remy could feel her panic and his smile only grew. He’d been a little surprised when she’d laid down just that way, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to wrap his arm around her, cuddle her close, but that would freak her out. He wished it wouldn’t, he was a cuddler himself, didn’t really matter who the person was, it just felt nice. He doubted she would take it so casually.  
  
Still, he found her obvious discomfort amusing. He could sit up, spare her the embarrassment, but where would be the fun in that? He resumed playing with her hair, and turned his head, close enough that his mouth would brush her skin while he spoke, “so, was there a reason for your visit?”  
  
“It’s been a couple days now,” she muttered, trying not to shiver at the feel of his lips against her forehead, “I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”  
  
“Ain’t avoidin’ you, saw ya in class jus’ today.”  
  
That he did, she frowned to herself. He’d seen her and he hadn’t acted any differently toward her than he would have before. Where the heating of her skin made her very much aware of his presence, he hadn’t seemed bothered at all. It pissed her off a little bit. She hadn’t been expecting him to walk over and kiss her, that would have been mortifying, but some kind of acknowledgement of their newfound familiarity would have been nice.  
  
But it was just any other day. In art class he had gone over the day’s lesson which consisted of art from the Renaissance. It would have bored her to tears, or more accurately, would have bored her to sleep, but she got caught in his voice and for once she’d stayed awake through the lecture.  
  
There was something soothing about his voice. It wasn’t as deep as Logan’s, it was lighter, warmer, full of fun and dripping with enthusiasm over whatever painting it was he was referencing. She could only imagine the genuine affection for the piece came from the fact that he’d either stolen it, or tried to at one point. It hadn’t really mattered what he was saying, the accent had charmed her and she’d found herself paying attention not to the lesson, but to him.  
  
Had she ever really noticed his hands before? He had a tendency to talk with those long fingered hands, not sign language, she didn’t even know if he knew any, but it seemed as long as he was talking, his hands were moving. It was almost distracting, but not enough to take away from her enjoyment of the whole.  
  
When had she started liking him? She couldn’t quite pinpoint that. It was before The Night, as she was calling it, it had to be. Sex wouldn’t change how she viewed a person, not that drastically anyway. She liked his energy, the way he gave his whole attention to whichever student was speaking. Did they know that? She wondered. That while they were speaking, they had all of him?  
  
That moment had given her a quick jolt of jealousy. They would never had him like she had, they was something only between the two of them, but the least he could do was smile at her or something… Even in combat training he hadn’t acted any differently, he’d paired her with someone as he would have any other day. Only this time, as hard as she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to hold his attention away from Logan, or when he’d moved into the group to correct positions or patterns.  
  
Now that they’d slept together, had he lost interest in her? She hadn’t thought of that before, but now she was beginning to wonder, and the wondering made her heart tremble.  
  
“You saw me,” she said, “but you ignored me.”  
  
“Treated you like I normally do, as you normally do your best ta ignore me. Were ya expectin’ somethin’ different?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “maybe.”  
  
The petulant tone made him smile a little and this time he pressed his lips fully against her head, “if you’d a told me dat de other mornin’, we woulda tried ta work somethin’ out.”  
  
“Why should I have to tell you?” She demanded, raising up onto her elbow to scowl down at him. She didn’t know why she was arguing about this, it was true that they hadn’t discussed anything. They probably should had, the important things at least. Like when and where she could expect to get her hands on him again, but they’d overslept and after some pretty incredible shower sex, they’d almost been late getting started for the day.  
  
It was the forehead thing, she figured. He was being weird and it was making her all tense and stuff. Didn’t he know by now that she didn’t like things like that? She didn’t need him to be all huggy and kissy; she hated that crap, it was annoying.  
  
She’d forgotten that he was the touchy type. For an instant she’d almost entertained a vision of violently ending one of the girls in class that morning when he dropped a casual hand to her hair. She’d watched them suspiciously for a moment before she realized what she was doing. She wasn’t the jealous type! Being jealous meant you cared, that you’d staked enough claim to someone to have a right to care who they interacted with. He wasn’t hers, and she didn’t care, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t relieved when she’d realized the touching was unconsciously done on his part.  
  
This whole thing was driving her crazy and it had only been two days since The Night. With this much tension, she needed a release, and she new exactly the kind she wanted.  
  
“So I wouldn’t somehow end up offendin’ you.” Remy said, feeling her rapidly shifting emotions. Times like this he wished he was a telepath, just to see the pictures playing out in her head. Maybe it would have helped him handle this better.  
  
There was a little hurt, a little confusion, those he felt bad about. Her jealousy gave him a typical smug, male reaction, but he couldn’t help it. He was curious about what he’d done to make her jealous. Whatever it was, he hadn’t meant to do it. Assuming it had anything to do with him at all. That healthy punch of lust though, he had a feeling that was all for him.  
  
He tried to feel bad, to find the guilt he’d clung to so tightly only days before, but he couldn’t. He’d had a long talk with himself, and he’d come to admit that he’d enjoyed being with her. It was good sex, he tended to appreciate good sex, and he wouldn’t mind having more of it with her, but Erika’s words just kept bouncing around in his head.  
  
The first time had been her doing, if he allowed it to continue… Would he be using her if she wanted it too? If she’d only give a little, stop trying to hold him, emotionally, at arm’s length. He could do causal sex but not with her, dammit, he liked her and he only wanted to show her that. He had no intention of proclaiming his undying love for her or anyone else, but he preferred a bit of affection with his passion.  
  
That’s where she started pulling away. He could help her if she’d let him, and maybe in time she would, but he was afraid of what could happen between now and then. She wanted him, and that brought his own lust for her roaring to life again. He’d held it at bay these last couple days, maybe to look out for her, maybe to prove that he didn’t have to touch her even with what had happened between them, but he knew himself well enough to know that he couldn’t hold out against her forever.  
  
The part of him that had lived on the street wondered why he had to. She wanted him, he wanted her, there was nothing simpler. They could have that connection for a few hours, and then walk away content. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but the part that was Remy, who he was now, knew that things weren’t so simple. She was a determined one, and if nothing else, she knew how to push him. She was using him to get what she wanted, and he would have been completely on board with that, if certain things she did didn’t leave him feeling cold inside.  
  
He knew what she wanted, raw and powerful and unfeeling. A giving and taking of each other that didn’t go beyond pleasure. He understood why, understood her reasons and her fears, but his own clashed in the most basic sense for the exact same reason. Would she believe that in this, they were the same?  
  
He’d had enough of the unfeeling to last him a lifetime. Without affection all they were missing was the quick exchange of cash, and that’s not what he wanted, not anymore. They needed to have a talk, a serious talk, but he was almost afraid it would send her running.  
  
“I wasn’t sure how to handle it,” he went on, sensing her irritation at his prolonged silence. Now probably wasn’t he time or place for that talk anyway. “I didn’t want ya to get embarrassed, but I didn’t want ta hurt your feelin’s either.”  
  
“You didn’t hurt my feelings!” She said, embarrassed because his ignoring her had done just that. “I just figured you regretted it or something…” She stared at him for a breath, two, “do you?”  
  
“I can regret de circumstances,” Remy smiled a little, “it wasn’t my smoothest performance, but no. I don’t regret bein’ wit’ you that night. Not like I should.”  
  
The man infuriated her and still she wanted him so badly she burned with it, “why should you regret it? I’m an adult, there’s nothing wrong with what we did.”  
  
Oh, there were so many things wrong with at least how they did, but he couldn’t say that. It would hurt her, and she had enough sore spots inside. “You’re an adult,” he nodded, sticking to the part of the story he agreed with, “but I’m responsible for you.”  
  
“No- You’re not. UGH!” She sat up with a frustrated cry and shifted to glare down at him. “If anyone’s responsible for me, it’s the Professor. It’s his school, he’s the reason I’m here, and I sure as hell don’t want to sleep with him. You’re not responsible for me, neither is Scott, or Logan, or Storm, or any of the rest of you that feel you have to look out for me. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. I can take care of myself, just the same as you.”  
  
“Maybe you can, but when you’re on my time I’m damn well responsible for you.” His eyes narrowed at the curse she made, some kind of strange English mess she garbled out when she was angry. “I don’t care if it pisses you off. That’s the way it goes. You can either learn to live with it or not, but that’s not changing. When you’re in class with me, or out with the others as part of this school, I’m responsible for you. I’m a teacher, it’s my goddamn job. I’m not just like this with you, so you can shove the attitude.”  
  
For some reason, she always felt proud of herself when she managed to piss him off. He just seemed so damn reasonable all the time that she found it an accomplishment whenever she made his voice snap that way. She knew he was angry, his accent had disappeared. That only happened when he was good and pissed and ready to pound on someone. A part of her wanted to fight with him, a no holds barred venting of frustration she had no doubt would lead to some good hard sex, but she didn’t know if she could push him that far. Right now she wasn’t sure that she wanted to.  
  
She was so happy that she’d managed to ruffle him so easily. Her grin came quick and bright and she batted her eyes at him, “where would you like me to shove it, Mr. LeBeau sir?”  
  
“I’d say up your ass, but for all ya got de manners of a donkey an de class of a sailor, you’re still a lady.” Her laugh confused him, and as he started to sit up, he found his arms full of her and he had to lean back to keep them both from toppling over. “What de hell?”  
  
Delighted with his response, she wriggled over him, straddling him, and nipped at his lip, “shut up and kiss me.”  
  
Women were so damn confusing, pissed one minute, deliriously happy the next. She’d made him that way the night he’d slept with her. He was moody as hell, but he didn’t know that anyone had ever done this to him before. What was it about this woman that ripped his control to shreds?  
  
Her mouth fastened on his, and he could feel her laughing against him. Here was the affection he wanted, offered so readily he was sure she wasn’t even aware of it, so he took, and this time there was no guilt.


	10. Chapter Ten

The happiness lasted all through that night, even when they’d finally managed to disengage long enough to go scrounge up something to eat since they’d missed dinner. Even into the next few days, Bronwyn couldn’t remember being so happy. There were no excuses any more, no stupid reasons for going to his room, or his classroom when he was alone. When she wanted him, she went to find him, and so long as he wasn’t busy, he wouldn’t turn her away.  
  
There might have been a time when she was more relaxed, but she couldn’t think of it. Her mood was better, her attitude was better, she was doing better in her classes, and though people questioned her, they didn’t know why. No one knew that she spent the last few nights in Remy’s bed, and somehow they were dumb enough to miss that she smelled consistently of his soap and shampoo.  
  
Not everyone though, Erika had noticed, Logan too though he had yet to comment. Erika just kept looking at her with a little smile that was seriously endangering her sense of happy. Why did she have to read more into it than it was? She was just having really good sex with a really good lover and that’s all there was to it. It was no wonder she was feeling better really. It would be a wonder if she wasn’t.  
  
When she didn’t have the energy to move, Remy would go down and bring them up something, a snack or something. They would eat in bed and he’d let her pick something to watch on TV if she needed to get her breath back. It was really nice, comfortable. She knew they didn’t need to cloud it up with the whole sticky, relationship deal.  
  
She said as much to Erika over lunch and frowned at her friend’s unusually loud burst of laughter. “What?” She asked, forgoing her vegetables for the candy bar Remy had given her. “What’s so funny?”  
  
“You are ma chere,” Erika chuckled, taking another spoonful of yogurt, “but for now, we’ll leave it alone.”  
  
“You can’t just do that and then change the subject. That’s not fair. What are you talking about?”  
  
“Non, that is all you’re getting from me at present. Now, what were you saying?”  
  
Bronwyn attempted to stare her down but that resulted in nothing more than eliciting a sweet smile from her friend. So much stubbornness under a pretty facade… She wasn’t going to get anything out of her until she was willing to talk, so she decided to ignore it. There was something on her mind that she desperately needed to talk about, and who was better to discuss the quirks of a lover with than a girlfriend?  
  
“Remy,” she started again, unable to help the little smile that came with his name. “The man should infuriate me with the things he does, but somehow it doesn’t really bother me at all.”  
  
“What things?” Erika asked, propping her chin on her hand. She was happy to talk to her about such things, especially considering how happy Remy seemed to make her. It was cute and amusing that Bronwyn couldn’t see her own reactions to him. She smiled when she said his name, what did that say? And then she was constantly talking about him, wanting a thought or opinion. Erika would say she was up to her knees and sinking…  
  
“He’s so damn conceited,” Bronwyn laughed. “Literally, when I get him naked or whatever, he’ll just lay there or stand there and let me look at him. He’s not the least bit shy.”  
  
“Some people have no modesty.” Erika lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug, “It is not so uncommon when the person in question is attractive.”  
  
“Attractive,” she snorted, “I think that’s putting it mildly. If angels went bad, they would look like Remy.”  
  
“I seem to recall he’s uncomfortable being compared to religious symbols…”  
  
“I’m not calling him a devil. That’s stupid. I have more devil in me than he does. I’m just saying he has this kind of fallen angel vibe. All knowing eyes and wicked smile…” She sighed, thinking of his eyes. She seriously loved his eyes. “Makes a girl want to forget about the halo brigade and join the dark side.”  
  
“What has that to do with his lack of modesty?”  
  
“It doesn’t, I got sidetracked. Back to that, I really don’t think it would bother him who was staring at him. Is that weird? Why would anyone enjoy a random person staring at them when they’re naked?”  
  
“I think perhaps you’re missing the bigger picture,” Erika reasoned, “perhaps he has no modesty where his body is concerned, but I doubt he would enjoy just anyone walking in on him undressed. Perhaps he wouldn’t blush as you or I would, but it’s unlikely he would invite them to stand and stare. I think that right is reserved for you. You obviously don’t have problems looking at him.”  
  
“Who would?” Bronwyn laughed knowingly at Erika’s light blush, “go ahead, imagine. I promise, the real thing is better. Anyway, all that should bother me. I should look at him and think he’s a pig or something right? But I don’t. He’s just Remy. Being Remy, he’s sexy as hell and I do like looking at him but… I noticed something that first night and ever since I… Well, I feel uncomfortable every time I look.”  
  
Erika pursed painted lips, trying not to laugh, “If something was wrong with him, physically, I don’t think you would still be regaling me with tales of your more carnal adventures.”  
  
“Did I say physically? God, you and your dirty mind; I’m a bad influence on you. But no, he’s like Mary Poppins, he’s pretty much perfect. He has these…scars, all over him.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. It might not bother Remy for her to see them, but he might not want people talking about them. She knew she wouldn’t like people talking about hers. That’s why she kept them covered.  
  
“He is an X-Man,” Erika pointed out, “that cannot be an easy job. Added to that, he was a thief for years and we don’t know what that entailed. He could very well have led a rather dangerous life. Scars shouldn’t be a surprise.”  
  
“It’s not the fact that he has them, unless you’re Logan, everyone has them. It’s how many he has that gets me. There are some knife scars, some from bullets, I know what those look like, but I swear, he’s covered with these thin little lines, like someone went at him with a scalpel.” Bronwyn had spent a lot of time looking at him. He had a great body, that was true, but that wasn’t entirely what had her attention.  
  
He had so many marks on his skin, but they didn’t seem to bother them. He wore them as easily as he did his clothes… How could he do that? Didn’t seeing them day after day remind him of how he’d gotten them?  
  
She’d gotten opportunities to watch him while he slept and during those moments she could really look at him. Those marks fascinated her in a terrible way, and she thought that she’d stared at them enough that she could draw every line on his body. So many…  
  
How could he be so at ease with himself when, unless in the throes of passion, she wanted hers covered. She didn’t want her marks on display, her past, her shame… It was something she wanted to talk to him about, to ask him about, but she was afraid to. They made small talk while they were resting, or when they would run into each other outside of classes, but so far they’d been careful to keep the conversations away from personal subjects.  
  
Or maybe that was just her. She didn’t really talk about herself with anyone but Erika, so it was second nature to steer conversation away from herself. Had Remy noticed? Did he care? He hadn’t pressed for more, but shouldn’t he be trying? Unless it was all about the sex for him…  
  
Erika watched Bronwyn’s face fall from curious to uneasy to just plain sad. She pushed her lunch aside and rounded the table to slide onto the bench beside her friend. “What has made you so unhappy?”  
  
“He doesn’t ask about me,” she said softly, laying her head onto Erika’s shoulder. “If I ask him something, he’ll answer it. I even think he’s mostly telling me the truth, but he doesn’t ask me anything about me.”  
  
“I thought that’s what you wanted. To keep it casual. It seems to me there would be little need for personal information if you just want sex.”  
  
Hearing her thoughts, her words, given back to her in such a dismissive way made Bronwyn’s heart ache. She was only trying to protect herself. She wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, she wasn’t being shallow. She could enjoy Remy without divulging every horrible nightmare from her own past.  
  
She did enjoy him, more than she thought she would going into this. She thought it would be sex. They’d get it done and go their separate ways until the next time, but it hadn’t been like that. Remy wouldn’t let her leave after she came back from her blissed out trips inside her own head. He would just wrap around her and hold her until they either fell asleep, or until they were ready to do it again.  
  
There had been so many things she’d imagined before that first time. She’d been positive that he would be good in bed, she hadn’t been disappointed, but she was surprised to find that she liked being held during and after. She liked feeling his arms around her when she fell asleep or when she woke up. Some mornings she’d wake up to find herself cuddled up against him, wrapped up in him as much as he was wrapped around her.  
  
In those moments she could just lay there, warm and safe and comfortable, and imagine what it would be like to wake up like this, day after day. What would it be like to share a bed with him every night, even if it was only to sleep, to wake up with him every morning, and know that he was thinking of you throughout the day like you were thinking of him?  
  
Would he laugh if he knew she was thinking such things? Who wouldn’t laugh about that? She, Bronwyn St. Vincent, loner, smart ass, occasional psycho, was imagining a future with someone. It was unbelievable. Even if she wanted it, and she didn’t, she couldn’t make it work. She was unstable at best, a crazy serial killer at worst… No one would want that. Remy didn’t know, or he wouldn’t be wasting his time on her now.  
  
“He doesn’t know me,” she muttered, “if he did, he would run screaming.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re giving either of you enough credit.” Erika said, her voice brisk. She hurt for Bronwyn, but it was God’s truth the woman could slip into depression quicker than you could turn a light on and off. The trick was not to let her.  
  
“He won’t know you chere, not until you talk to him.”  
  
“But he doesn’t ask me anything,” she protested, “I keep waiting for him to, I think he might want to, but he doesn’t.” Doesn’t say a damn word, she thought, her thoughts turning bitter. “He doesn’t notice what I wear, sometimes I pass him in the hall and he can’t even bother to stop for a damn minute to say hi…” He doesn’t say nice things to me, she went on silently, not like he does the other girls…  
  
“Could he?” Erika asked, “could he do any of that without you jumping down his throat? He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to get to know you, but he knew you wouldn’t let him. Take the first step darling, he’ll meet you half way.”  
  
“Who’s side are you on?” Bronwyn asked again, lifting her head to glare at the dark haired beauty. “Why is it always my fault?”  
  
“There is no fault, simply insecurities, and as I told you before I am on no one’s side. I want you to be happy chere, and if I must bully you into making that so, I have no trouble whatsoever in doing so.”  
  
That was one of the sweetest, if one of the strangest, things Erika had ever said to her and she pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you. I know I’m an ungrateful bitch and I don’t deserve you, but thank you anyway.”  
  
“You are quite welcome.” Erika smiled happily against her shoulder and squeezed her lightly, “and you are hardly ungrateful.”  
  
“Just a bitch?”  
  
“Well, I was not going to say it, but we are women ma chere, we have an obligation to be such every now and again. We do it so very well wouldn’t you say?”  
  
“You’re not a bitch,” Bronwyn laughed, pulling away from her and flicking at one of Erika’s curls, “you’re just prissy. Another reason I can hate you.”  
  
“Ah, but women of class don’t have to stoop to low levels,” Erika smiled smugly. “A lady can be anything she wishes to be with naught but a change of facial expression or tone of voice, a shifting of the body, smiling into the eyes of a person you despise…”  
  
“So you’re a polite bitchy… Does it work?”  
  
“Wonders,” Erika laughed, “it works wonders. And it leaves the object of your annoyance baffled as you’ve made no comment or remark they could retaliate against. You get all of the satisfaction, and the last word.”  
  
“You have got to teach me that… Is there a school, some kind of class?”  
  
“As I’ve said, we are women. It just comes naturally.” Rising, Erika patted her shoulder, “talk to him chere, I daresay it will make you feel better.”  
  
“Talk to him,” Bronwyn murmured, as her friend left the lunch room. How was she supposed to talk to him about these things? She had a hard enough time talking to herself about them… She took a big bite of candy bar, hoping the chocolate would help her feel better. She really did need to talk to him, if she didn’t, the resentment building inside would make her blow up at him, and then she would lose this…whatever it was they had.  
  
She wasn’t ready for it to be over, to lose all the good things she felt when she was with him. So…she guessed she would just have to go talk to him.  
  
After a quick glance at the clock on the wall, she figured she would find him in the rec room. It was usually empty at lunchtime as no one had enough time over the break to really settle in and enjoy a video game or a movie. If she was surprised to know that she somehow knew his habits and patterns, she kept it to herself. It was just…handy to know that was all. It wasn’t like she wanted to know where he was in case she needed him, or wanted to see him, which she didn’t… She needed to talk to him. This wasn’t a social visit it was business.  
  
Business? Holy hell what kind of attitude is that? ‘Hey Remy, I know we’ve been fucking like bunnies and all, but we need to have a discussion. No no, nothing personal, it’s just business.’  Fuck that was just sad, and wrong, and really messed up. She didn’t view this thing between them as a business arrangement. That would turn things really bad, really quick.  
  
Straightening her shoulders, she took a breath and stepped into the quiet rec room to see Remy’s long frame stretched out on the couch. Taking a nap, she smiled, typical. But then, her smile turned smug, she was usually keeping him busy at nights these days.  
  
Walking over, she sat down on the couch. It was a little uncomfortable as she couldn’t actually sit on the couch, she had to settle for the stingy bit of cushion between his side and the edge, but she couldn’t really complain. There was so much of him, and she always got a little tingle when she got to be this close to him, especially when he didn’t know she was there.  
  
Studying him was one of her greatest pleasures. She liked to look at him, the angles of his face, the lines and planes of his body. Her fingers itched to draw or paint, to sketch him at rest. Normally she saw him in vibrant colors as he was always so full of energy, even when he was standing still, but this one came to her in black and white and with worry chasing hard and unexpected on its heels. He looked tired, drained, and there were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there a few hours ago.  
  
“What’ve you done to yourself?” She asked softly, running her thumb gently under his eyes.  
  
The last time she’d seen him like this was right before the incident at the club. He’d looked tired and sad then too, but she’d been too wrapped up in her own wants to notice. Seeing it now, full force, made her feel horrible, and it made her a little angry at whatever, or whoever, was making him feel like this again. She didn’t know a lot about empaths, but she knew emotions, everyone’s not just their own, were powerful and could affect them in negative ways. What had he been into since she’d seen him last?  
  
She didn’t register the protective feelings as her own, or as being directed toward him, they were simply there. She shifted and laid across his chest, her ear pressed over his heart. She didn’t think of it as trying to shield him, or trying to help him, she just wanted to be close to him, and this was one of her favorite ways to lay with him in bed. Granted the bed was more comfortable, but she didn’t mind too much. She would just lay here with him until it was time to go back to class…  
  


~*~

Logan knew that Scott viewed things in a way that was similar to Remy. It was almost funny, the Boy Scout and the thief having the same outlook on certain things, but where Remy was willing to bend, Scott was as stiff as a damn board. Scott had found out about Remy and Bronwyn, probably from his nosy, gossip spreading wife, and had called Remy into his office.  
  
That would have been bad enough, like they didn’t have enough to worry about without getting involved in everyone else’s personal life, but Scott had called in the team. Not everyone, just Hank, Storm, Jean, and Logan himself but even that had been too much for a private conversation. Where did the man get off, Logan wondered, reaming the kid in front of people like that. Especially when it wasn’t any of their business to begin with…  
  
He wasn’t the only one that had sided with Remy, Storm had, and Hank as well, though that one had surprised him. Jean had been sitting there, staring at Remy like somehow that would help her through his shields. Logan had struggled not to snort. Scott was being stupid, even Jean eventually crossed the line to stand with them against her husband, which of course hadn’t helped anything.  
  
Logan had been worried, he’d taken up a place behind Remy’s chair, a hand on his shoulder for support, but Remy hadn’t really said anything. He just sat there, nodding occasionally with that damn poker face on. Kid could keep the emotions off his face and out of his voice, but Logan could smell how upset he was and he wanted to throw something at Scott’s head. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything, but it might have made Remy laugh.  
  
When Remy had been allowed to leave the rest of them had stayed, letting Scott know exactly how they’d felt about his little show. He thought Hank had summed it up best, though Blue had always been a little wordy: A team we may be, but we are individuals within that unit and have every right to expect privacy in personal matters. When the individual is crushed beneath the team, the team collapses.  
  
Logan didn’t know why Hank had to say it all poetic like that, but it seemed to make Scott think a little more than Logan’s, ‘they’re adults and you need to keep your damn nose outta their business.’ Yeah…that hadn’t gone over well. Scott had actually given him The Face, the one he gave the younger kids when he was about to go into lecture mode.  
  
If he’d opened his mouth to lecture him, Logan might just have stabbed him, but Hank had stepped in with his fancy words and saved the bastard’s life. Although, Logan thought the most pressing danger to the team leader’s life was from Storm, given the way the winds had suddenly picked up outside. They’d never seen her bring a lightning bolt down on a friend, but they’d all given her a little distance, Logan especially. The metal coating his bones made him a great conductor, and no matter how much he agreed with her, he didn’t want to get zapped due to righteous fury,  
  
Deciding to leave the bickering to the cooler heads, Logan had gone in search of Remy. By now the kid was probably holed up in his room, thinking something stupid like he wasn’t going to see Bronwyn again. All that would do was hurt two people Logan cared a great deal for, and he’d be damned if he let Scott win. But that had to go on the back burner; kid was bound to be upset, embarrassed, angry, for all he hadn’t let on. Logan would just do a quick check, make sure he was alright, and maybe drag him down to the Danger Room to blow holes in simulations of Scott. That always made everyone feel better.  
  
Surprised and confused, Logan followed Remy’s scent not upstairs, but to the side. Rec room wasn’t generally where the kid holed up, but it was closer and he was sure that no one would think to look for them there. He wouldn’t have thought to look if he hadn’t smelled him.  
  
A change in pattern. Remy liked to change it up sometimes on principle, to screw with them, to remind them of who and what he was. As if Warren and Scott would let anyone forget they had a thief in their midst. When he’d first met the kid, Logan hadn’t known what the big deal was. So Remy stole shit on occasion, they’d all done it, well…not Worthington. Some of their number might have been born rich kids, but few of them had remained that way.  
  
It hadn’t bothered him, though he had checked on occasion to make sure his wallet was still where it should have been. He needn’t have bothered, he’d been informed by a laughing Remy when he’d been caught at it. Turned out Remy was a capital T thief. Logan still hadn’t gotten it until Remy had explained it to him, then he’d found himself looking at the scrawny kid with newfound interest. A master thief could be useful, as most of the time, they weren’t the stealthiest bunch.  
  
It had been both an education and a pleasure watching him work, more so seeing the ease with which the kid could relieve Scott of the cash in his wallet leaving the man none the wiser. He’d been fortunate enough to be in the room when Scott had finally realized someone had been lifting his wallet. It had been a joke. Remy’d held up the wad of cash he’d put in a fancy money clip and offered it back to Cyclops.  
  
Scott had insulted Remy when he stood there and counted it, but it didn’t show on his face. Logan caught it because he was looking and he hadn’t understood it at first. Hell, he would have taken a little, just to piss him off, but Remy hadn’t been after money, he was simply proving a point. Kid was a hard one to follow, some things insulted him, some things didn’t, and he rarely clarified what did and why, but Logan was learning.  
  
He’d enjoyed watching Remy come into his own here, watching him grow out of that starving kid with the wary eyes he’d met in a bar. He was an X-Man now, trusted enough to go on missions and gather intel the rest of them would have a hard time getting their hands on, but some still treated him like shit. There was a long list of things that pissed Logan off, hypocrites were up there, and Scott just kept inching his way up the hit list.  
  
If there was a problem around here, it wasn’t Remy and Bronwyn. It was closed minded assholes that liked to pretend they were in charge of people that could bury them… Scott was good, but there were any number of people on the team that could put him on his ass. It was respect, mostly for the Professor, that kept them from doing it as often as they’d like to, but Logan was fast approaching his limit.  
  
The scene in that office had been nothing but bullshit. How could he get on Remy that way when he worked with his wife? Talk about distractions. What about having her on the team in the field, but he hadn’t wanted to hear that. When Storm had pointed out that Bronwyn didn’t go into the field yet, Scott had jumped on that like a dog with a bone. Fraternization with a student, he’d said.  
  
Logan knew that Remy would have heard his own words come out of Scott’s mouth and that would have made him want to step back, but dammit, they were legal, they weren’t hurting anyone, and it wasn’t Scott’s business.  
  
Glowering, Logan stepped into the rec room, set to make all of these points to his friend, possibly, probably not, in a reasonable manner, and then drag him off for a good bout of leader bashing, but he pulled up short and canted his head to the side. The quick grin softened into a smile, and instead of leaving the room, Logan leaned back against the doorframe to better appreciate the surprise.  
  
Remy looked like hell, not unexpected, but Logan didn’t like seeing it. If he’d lashed out at Scott, he wouldn’t have been so concerned, but it wasn’t like Remy to take a reprimand in silence, definitely not a crap one like that had been. The negativity weighed on him, and for it to show this soon was a little worrying, but the present company would help him more than anything Logan could do.  
  
After the initial setup, Logan had kept his distance from Bronwyn and Remy when they were together. Whatever they were doing as a couple they could work out for themselves. He’d kept his thoughts and opinions to himself, but a blind man could tell it was doing them both good. They were both more relaxed and happier than he’d seen them in a while. It had been a good move, he stood by that, but he was a little worried that they might not know what they were in for.  
  
Both of them had trust issues and insecurities coming out the ass and he would bet his favorite box of cigars they hadn’t had a single conversation about all that shit. He was one to talk, or not to talk as the case happened to be. He didn’t like sharing either, but then, he wasn’t the one that needed to have that particular talk. He didn’t have anyone to explain himself to, and these two had too much to explain period.  
  
To start they could explain why they were sleeping on the couch rather than in one of the two perfectly good beds he knew they had upstairs. Remy was too tall for the couch and either his head or his feet had to hang over an end for him to fit, and Bronwyn…he didn’t know what her issue was, but half laying, half sitting didn’t look at all comfortable. Grumbling softly, he walked over and moved her, laying her carefully between Remy and the back of the couch. Embarrassment nearly gave Logan a heart attack when she began to squirm, but she muttered a little and snuggled closer to Remy and settled back to sleep.  
  
Only after he’d covered them with the throw from the back of the couch did he release his in drawn breath and move back toward the door. He looked around quickly to make sure no one had witnessed his moment of sentimentality and shook his head. Damn kids…  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Logan jumped, assuring himself quickly that it wasn’t because he was guilty. He’d just stumbled upon them like that, all cozy on the couch in the middle of the day. He’d had nothing to do with it… “Nothin’,” he said, turning his head to regard Erika curiously, “why are you here?”  
  
“I was looking for Bronwyn. She wanted me to look at one of her art projects. I thought she might be here.” Had he just jumped? Erika frowned a little; what was he doing that he wouldn’t have heard her approach?  
  
She peeked into the rec room and her hands fluttered up to press against her heart. “Oh,” she sighed softly, “how sweet. How long have they been here?”  
  
“Dunno,” he shrugged, “just found ‘em myself. I wanted to talk to Remy. Want me to get ‘em up?”  
  
“No!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the hallway, “how could you even think of such a thing? No. Just leave them be, I can always look at her project another time.”  
  
Logan shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets, always the safest place for them to be around her, “All right then. I’ll see you for your lesson.” He’d thought he’d gotten away with it, but he heard the sharp click of her heels following him down the hall and he stopped at the end, waiting for her. “What?”  
  
“I did want to speak with you actually. About them…”  
  
“Why would you want to do a thing like that?” Logan asked, an eyebrow quirked slightly.  
  
How could one look have so many meanings? Erika wondered. He used that same expression for so many things. It was a look she was coming to associate solely with Logan, though he was hardly the only one to use it. “I would like to know your thoughts on our friends. I know you care for them as much as I do.”  
  
“Yeah, and cause I do I’m gonna stay outta it. I suggest you do the same.”  
  
“Logan please?” Erika laid a hand on his arm, “Please? I truly would like to know what you think of the whole situation. Are they good for each other?”  
  
“They can be,” he said slowly, “if they don’t kill each other first. There’s a lot of stubbornness going on there, a lot of…problems.”  
  
“Individually you mean?”  
  
“Yeah. That’s what I mean. They’ve each got their own shit and they have a hard time sharing anything about themselves with people. Then again, that’s not strange for around here. No one likes to talk about themselves.”  
  
“How do we help them?” She asked, far too used to his a way of speaking to do anything but sigh at his choice of language.  
  
“We don’t princess. We stay out of it.”  
  
“But…surely you realize if left to their own devices this could end in disaster?”  
  
“If it does, it does,” Logan shrugged again, “but they’ll do it themselves. Look, if we try to shove ‘em a certain way, who’s to say that’s the way they wanna go? It might not last. If they do it themselves, they may end up hurtin’ each other along the way, but if they make it, it’ll be because they want to be together.”  
  
Surprised, Erika smiled and tilted her head in a gesture she rather thought resembled him when he was curious. Was that flirting? Perhaps, or maybe she just liked to see if she could get reactions from him. “When did you become so insightful in such things?”  
  
“Since I nearly lost my best friend to a small bit of advice when I thought I was helping.” The echoes of that fear still ached in his chest and he fought down the urge to rub at the spot. “Trust me. Talk if they wanna talk, but watch what you say.”  
  
“Bronwyn doesn’t want to be a relationship with him,” she said softly. She needed someone to talk to about this; she couldn’t go to Remy, that would be unfair, and Bronwyn would run if she told her what she truly thought of the situation. Logan was really the only option she had left. He was the only one that knew as much as she did.  
  
“I’d say she’s a bit out of luck there,” he grinned, thinking of them back on the couch. “She’s in one whether she thinks so or not.”  
“Does Remy know that?” Erika asked, tugging at the ends of her hair as she did when she was worried. “I’m so afraid that…”  
  
“That what?” Logan pressed. He hated it when people started to say something and just stopped. Either you said what was on your mind or kept the whole thing to yourself, that’s just the way it should be. “He doesn’t hurt people, he ain’t made that way.”  
  
“I know that,” she nodded, “I do. It’s just that I want so badly to see them together. I keep forgetting that perhaps that is not what they want.”  
  
“Why do you want this so bad?”  
  
“Do you not wish to see your brother happy?”  
  
“Sure I do,” Logan leaned back against the wall, watching her closely. It didn’t bother him to hear her refer to Remy that way, that’s how he thought of him, but it was surprising to know that she would. Was it an angle she was using on him, something to get her way, or was that just how she thought of them? “But as much as I want him happy, I don’t need him hooked up with Lil Red. You do. Why?”  
  
“I want my sister happy, she deserves that. Remy is a good man… I am a little jealous you could say.” She sighed softly, “she does not see she is falling, and I would give anything to be in her position. Falling in love with a good man that is falling for me.”  
  
Her voice was layered with sadness and almost against his will, Logan felt for her. He nearly reached a hand out to her, but stopped himself. He didn’t do comfort, it wasn’t his thing. He would only screw it up somehow. “There’s nothin’ to say you won’t have that.”  
  
“I know what I know mon ami,” she made an attempt at a smile. “I am not permitted such a relationship, so I am being selfish, attempting to live vicariously through our friends. I truly do wish them happiness. It does my heart good to know that some find it.” Lost in her own thoughts, Erika fell back on old habits and dipped him a small curtsy, “Good day to you.”  
  
Logan watched her go, rubbing at the spaces between his knuckles, more from habit than need. Beauty queen was hiding something, that’s what was making him want to watch, to follow. It wasn’t her delicate scent on the air, wrapped around him like a silken scarf. Girl had secrets and Logan wanted to find out about them, and for once the Wolverine was in total agreement.  
  
He sniffed the air and started down the hall. Alright, so maybe her scent had something to do with it. Just a little…


	11. Chapter Eleven

Waking to find Bronwyn with him, on top of him, had worked wonders for Remy. He didn’t care why she was there, or that he hadn’t woken up when she’d lain down with him. He simply scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to his room. Still more vulnerable than he cared to admit, he’d laid her in his bed and climbed in after her, curling up around her.

  
It was comfort he needed, and he took it, snuggling close to her, and burying his nose in her hair. She hadn’t agreed to this, but he just needed to be with her, to hold her for a little while, closed up somewhere he didn’t feel quite so exposed. The pressure was easing in his chest and he didn’t feel quite so sick anymore. The buzzing in his skull had stopped on its own, a feat he would have called miraculous if he’d been steady enough to think.

  
Scott’s words had hurt, they’d stung and burrowed in to latch onto him in places he already had too many barbs. He could have taken the reprimand, but to do it in a room full of people… He didn’t like other people in his business. Logan knowing was different, he trusted Logan, and after that first blunder he’d been careful to stay out of it. Remy knew it, was grateful for it, and could accept his involvement. He wouldn’t even have minded the others knowing, but for it to come to light that way…

  
What would he have to do to finally be accepted here? Hadn’t he done everything they’d asked of him? More so as he’d updated their security system, expanded their range of contacts, and gotten them information they hadn’t even known they’d needed. He would do more yet, it’s what you did for family and they were his family, but he was beginning to believe they would never see him that way.

  
Was a home, a family, too much to ask for the work he’d done? He didn’t want their money; he didn’t need their gadgets or their fancy equipment. Couldn’t they see he just wanted somewhere to belong? Didn’t he respect them enough to follow their rules, to take their orders without too much question? Why couldn’t they give him the respect he gave them?

  
The office had been too small for all the anger, the disappointment and the judgment, and Remy had soaked it all up like a sponge. There was something about Scott that punched right through his shields and the man had more anger than he knew what to do with. It was automatic; Remy took in all the negativity and settled it inside like a lead weight in his chest. Still they’d argued, they hadn’t even noticed his discomfort. Even Logan that had moved immediately to his back like a guard dog hadn’t noticed him flinch at every harsh word they’d flung around the room.

  
Remy didn’t want to fight, and he didn’t want them to fight over him. They’d been a unit before he’d come and would be long after he’d removed himself from this place. He wasn’t worth the turmoil he was causing. But what had he done to provoke that kind of reaction?

  
He knew what he’d done, he sighed, and they had every right to be angry, but did they have to do it all at once in so tight a space?

  
 He cuddled the sleeping form closer and squeezed his eyes closed.

  
He’d put his hands on her. He’d touched what he’d had no right to. Stupidly he’d been thinking, planning, working out ways to make Bronwyn easier with him. Maybe he’d take her out, find a concert since he knew she liked music, maybe dinner and a movie. He wanted to talk to her, to know her, to share things with her. She’d been letting him get her small things, like candy here and there. She didn’t swipe at him when he brought her dinner or wrapped his arm around her when they watched a movie in bed.

  
She no longer shrunk back from his touch when his fingers skimmed over the scars she was terrified of showing. He thought that maybe they were working up to something, even if she didn’t trust him enough yet to tell him anything about herself. He told her things about himself every now and then, little things in hopes that she might do the same, but she hadn’t and all he could do was wait.

  
He’d slept with her, several times now, but she was willing and as Logan was so fond of pointing out, she was an adult. He hadn’t thought the others would be so upset about it, but he should have known better. Scott was more rigid about these kinds of things than he was.

  
It had hurt in ways Remy didn’t want to think about to know the team leader had actually looked up her age, as if Remy was in the habit of forcing himself on kids… Even the support from the others hadn’t softened that one.

  
It had been instinct to step back. He’d followed orders the majority of his life, his father’s and then with Essex, and it was knee jerk to bow down, to back away, not that he’d ever let them know that. He had his pride if nothing else, and normally would have fought them every step of the way on principle alone. They didn’t have to know that he agreed with them more often than not, and that while he might hate Scott as a man, he respected him as a leader.  He enjoyed dragging his feet, being the wild card, but so long as the order was a good one, he’d follow it.

  
At one time he’d have followed regardless, but that had been with his father. He would have split open a vein if the man had asked it of him, but Remy didn’t have that kind of loyalty for Scott. Logan yes, the Professor maybe, but not Scott.

  
He’d demanded that Remy leave Bronwyn alone, that he end whatever little game it was he was playing with her. He’d wanted to say that it was her game, not his, but he hadn’t and he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what, if anything, Scott would do to her if he knew she’d started it, so Remy would take the blame for it. He knew that Logan knew differently, but he hadn’t said anything and for that he was grateful.

  
He stroked a hand down her hair, taking comfort from her softness, her warmth, and the way her arms had come around him to hold. Ending this had been his first thought, the result of the order he’d been given, but Remy didn’t know that he could. Maybe so far it was nothing but sex, but he was sure it could be more if he gave her a little time. He wanted more. He wanted to see if he could have something with her.

  
She made him laugh, made him smile, she made him think; even when she wasn’t there. Somehow the prickly woman was making him happy. He didn’t want to let it go so soon. Not before he found out if what he felt for her went deeper than affection.

  
It wasn’t as if she was doing anything to encourage him though. She still refused to talk about herself. When he passed her in the hall he’d smile and wait for her lead, but she never spoke, so he would just keep going. Maybe he was disappointed, but it was her show and he didn’t want to rush her.

  
He liked being with her, even if it was just to hold her like this. No, this was one order he was going to refuse, and it was only going to make things worse. Remy could take the anger, the outrage, especially knowing that he had people on his side, but he was worried that Scott would try to make things difficult for Bronwyn. That one he would have to think about.

  
Bronwyn came slowly awake under the gentle petting and nuzzled into him absently. This wasn’t the couch; she recognized the smell and feel of his bed by now. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there, but she definitely wasn’t complaining. It was more comfortable this way, stretched out with him when they both had room enough to move. Not that she needed much room, but she wasn’t squishing Remy, or squished into him, so everything was good.

  
“Hi,” she mumbled sleepily, yawning into his shirt. “What time is it?”

  
“Jus’ after five,” Remy replied after a quick glance at the clock. He never stilled his hand; touching her calmed him down and she didn’t seem to mind it. “Why?”

  
“Missed my afternoon classes,” she slurred, “damn.” Not the least bit regretful, she grinned up at him, “thanks for that.”

  
“I didn’t tell you to lay down wit’ me.”

  
“No, but you looked so sad…” Had she just said that? She wanted to wince, but she didn’t. Neither could she meet his eyes. She just stroked her fingers along his spine, hoping he wouldn’t comment.

  
So that’s why, he smiled to himself. She’d known there was something wrong and had wanted to comfort him. Touched, he pressed his lips to her head. “I had a rough mornin’.”

  
“Do you want to talk about it?” They were both aware that that was the most personal question she’d asked him since they’d started sleeping together. She was curious about what had so visibly changed him in such a short period of time, and truthfully, she wanted to know where she could direct her anger.

  
The Remy she liked best was always carefree, relaxed, and if not happy at least content. She liked to think that she’d left him a little brighter after their shared shower that morning. He’d certainly done the same for her, but when she’d seen him lying there, face troubled, eyes shadowed, her focus had shifted from her own concerns. Who had upset him and why? Suddenly those were the most pressing thoughts in her mind.

  
By way of explaining herself, she leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, “you don’t have to…”

  
Why did she always have to backpedal? He wondered. She’d worried, she’d wondered, she’d asked, he saw no problem with that. No, that she would ask, that she would offer him a shoulder or an ear wasn’t a problem at all. She was taking an interest in his life outside of this room and that suddenly made him feel a whole lot better.

  
He wasn’t going to give her up, not before this, whatever it was, ran its course. Scott could go hell…

  
Smiling a little, he nuzzled her hair and sighed, at last letting the tension drain from him. “Fearless called me into his office dis mornin’ ta talk ‘bout you’n me.”

  
Shocked, offended, and embarrassed, Bronwyn sat up and shoved at her hair, “He did not! How did he even find out?”

  
“I dunno. If I had ta guess I’d say Jean, but I don’t know for sure.”

  
“Sounds like her,” Bronwyn scowled, “nosy bitch can’t mind her own business.”

  
“Easy chere.”

  
“Easy my ass,” she snorted, “what did he say?”

  
Remy sighed and leaned back against the headboard and reached for the pack of smokes he kept on his nightstand, “jumped my ass ‘bout you. How I had no right bein’ wit’ you dis way, I should be ashamed a myself, he should kick me off de team, dat kinda shit. Oh, an I ain’t allowed ta be wit’ you no more, so dis’s gotta end.”

  
“W-What?” Where had all this pain come from? Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? She looked away from him and took a few deep breaths just to prove that she could.

  
Her heart hurt and her eyes filled against her will. Just like that, they were done. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to talk to him yet. She’s always assumed that she would somehow fuck things up or that he would get tired of her, that had been bad enough, but to have someone else forbid them from being together… Somehow that was so much worse.

  
How could she see him day after day, want him, and not be with him? How was it fair that the only thing keeping them apart was the bullheadedness of one man?

  
When her arms went around herself, Remy reached out and pulled her against his chest. She had no need to comfort herself; he was with her and more than happy to do it for her. He snuggled her close, wrapping around her, and laughed softly, “Dat’s what Scott said chere. Don’t mean dat’s what’s happenin’.”

  
“But…he’s…”

  
“He’s de field leader, but he ain’t de Professor an he ain’t my Daddy. He can’t tell me who I can an can’t be wit’. He can shove it up his ass. I like bein’ wit’ you,” he went on softly. “You make me feel better.”

  
He could all but feel her blush and he laughed again, “ya do, an I make you feel better too.”

  
“Someone thinks highly of himself,” she muttered against his chest, turning her face belatedly to hide her blush.

  
“Non, I’m jus’ an empath. Can feel what you feel.  Remember?”

  
“Well stop it!”

  
He winced and rubbed at the back of his neck, “I really don’t mean to. Normally I can block it all out, or most a it, but it’s different wit’ you. I’m comfortable wit’ you an I like feelin’ you. Makes me feel closer to you.”

  
She leaned up and brushed her lips over his, “I’m not mad at you. You can stop with the kicked puppy routine. It just makes me feel weird knowing someone can feel my embarrassment you know? It’s bad enough knowing you can do it, but when you make it that obvious… It’s a little unfair.”

  
“I won’t do it no more. I promise.” He didn’t need to close his eyes to strengthen the weak spots in his shields that allowed him to feel her, but he did it anyway for her benefit. He doubted she would believe he’d closed himself off if he didn’t do something visible to let her know that he had. “Dere. I got nothin’ now. Will dat help ya relax?”

  
“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Thanks…” This is what she wanted, her space, her privacy, at least emotionally speaking so why did she feel so bad about it?

  
Maybe because feeling other people was something he did naturally, like breathing. She wouldn’t ask him not to breathe on her account, but then breathing didn’t make her uncomfortable. Makes him feel closer, he’d said, and she’d had him stop doing something that made him feel close to her… Why did he put up with her?

  
“Stop it,” Remy said, tugging at her hair, “it ain’t going to hurt me ta put it away for a bit.”

  
“I thought you said you couldn’t feel me.”

  
“I can’t, but I don’t need my powers ta know what’s troublin’ you. Like it or not chere, I know you.” He tipped her head up and kissed her softly, “what d’ya say we go down an get somethin’ ta eat? I’m starvin’.”

  
“You’re always starving.”

  
“Oui, an you don’t eat enough.” He pushed her playfully off his lap and tickled her sides, “ya wanna keep  up wit’ me, you’re gonna need de energy.”

  
“I don’t have the energizer bunny in my back pocket. How can anyone have that much energy?”

  
“Don’t you worry darlin’.” He cupped her face and kissed her again, “ya jus’ let Remy do all de work no?”

  
“I think I can get behind that,” she grinned.

  
“Was actually thinkin’ I was gonna be behind you.” He winked at her and got up to go to the bathroom.

  
 He’d be damned before he let Scott see how much he’d upset him, so he washed his face, brushed his hair, and hunted around in his medicine cabinet. “See how ya like dis, ya dick…”

  
“Are you talking to yourself?” Bronwyn asked, hopping off the bed. It had taken her a minute to gather her wits after his rather blatant innuendo and her fantasies had been interrupted by his mutterings. “What are you doing in there?”

  
She walked into the bathroom and froze, seeing him leaning over the sink to get close to the mirror. “Are you…? Is that eyeliner?” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or moan a little, but he was putting on eyeliner with a practiced sort of ease that made her hum thoughtfully. “I prefer the liquid myself.”

  
“I don’t. Don’t gimme de look I want.”  
“And what look do you want?” She asked, going over and sitting on the edge of the bathtub, “what’s the point in this?”

  
“I looked like hell,” he shrugged, “now I look better.” He put the pencil away and took out two bottles of cologne, “Which a dese do ya like better?”

  
With a little laugh she got up and sniffed each before tapping her preferred one, “wouldn’t it just be easier to tell him to kiss your ass?”

  
“Oui, but dis’s more fun.”

  
“You’re going to need a better shirt then,” she smiled, running a hand down his back over the simple t-shirt he wore. “I’ll go find you something.”

  
“Appreciate it,” he nodded, dabbing on the cologne. “You’re gonna be sittin’ wit’ me, by de way.” He thought it best to deliver that bit of information while she was out in the bedroom. Give her a little time to digest. “If ya don’t mind goin’ public dat is.”

  
Sit with him at dinner? That made a statement certainly, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be part of his game to get back at Scott. She would rather just kick him in the jewels and be done with it.

  
She opened his closet, still amused at how tidy it was, and tapped her lips while she thought. Purple looked good on him, so did blue, red, green, any number of things. Hell, he wouldn’t own a garment that didn’t flatter him in some way so it wasn’t like she could make a bad choice. Still, she took her time as it gave her a chance to think. Eventually she settled on a black tank top with a deep red over shirt.

  
“Here, it matches your eyes,” she said, carrying it back to the bathroom for him. She watched in silent appreciation while he peeled off the t-shirt and put on what she’d brought him. Normally she wouldn’t have been able to resist touching him, but she was still struggling with her internal debate.

  
If they went public, people would think they were dating or something… They weren’t. They were just sleeping together. It would be hilarious to see Scott’s face, but what about later when Remy had made his point? What would they do then, when everyone knew? He kept making a big deal about how she was his student… It would just end up embarrassing them both.

  
She looked up to find him watching her in the mirror and she shifted nervously, “I don’t know that me sitting with you is a good idea. People will get the wrong impression.”

  
“What impression would dat be?” He asked, adjusting the silver chain he wore habitually around his neck. “Dey know we’re sleepin’ together, what other impression could dey get?”

  
“Don’t be a pain in the ass,” she sighed, “not everyone knows we’re having sex and what if they think we’re dating?”

  
“Heaven forbid anyone think dat.” He rolled his eyes and tucked his shirt into his pants, “So I’m good enough ta fuck, but not ta date. Dat what you’re sayin’?”

  
“I didn’t say that! I just know how sensitive you are to this whole, ‘I’m your student’ thing…”

  
“No,” he said firmly, “you don’t get ta use dat now dat things’re gettin’ uncomfortable for you. You’re de one always sayin’ how dat don’t matter. You’re an adult an so am I. Don’t turn dis back on me.” He turned around to face her and leaned back against the sink. “What is it you want from me.”

  
“I- This… I like things the way they are. Just us…”

  
“Dat ain’t enough for me no more.” He closed the distance between them and ran his hands down her arms. “I’m gonna go down dere an tell Scott ta kiss my ass cause I wanna be wit’ you. I don’t give a damn if I can’t ever touch you dat way again, dat don’t matter. I like bein’ wit’ you. I like sittin’ in bed wit’ you an readin’ or watchin’ a movie. I like holdin’ you when we sleep. I like when ya watch me do my lesson plans when ya think I don’t know ya are.”

  
“I wanna be wit’ you,” he said again, tracing his thumb over her mouth, “but I’m tired a bein’ your secret. I can’t be wit’ you if you’re ashamed ta be seen wit’ me.”

  
“It’s not that… Remy… I-” Her heart in her throat, she dropped her eyes. “I don’t know…”

  
“Ya wanna be wit’ me, or ya don’t. It’s your choice an I’ll respect dat, whichever way ya go.” He kissed her head and stepped back, “I’ll see ya later.”

  
“I- don’t want to lose you…”

  
“You won’t. I’m still gonna be dere, whatever ya decide. Dat’s all I wanted at first,” he sighed, “for ya ta know ya could come ta me if ya needed somethin’… I wanna be your friend,” he shrugged, “stupid as it sounds. Think about it.”

~*~

Think about it? Think about it?! How could he say that and leave? How could he lay all of this on her and then saunter out of the damn room? Stupid, stubborn jackass… Why did he have to go saying all that, changing things? Weren’t they getting along better? Things were nice, and comfortable, and easier than she ever thought it could be. Things were great. And then this…

  
How was it her fault he wanted more? Why did it have to be her responsibility to take that step? She didn’t even want to! She didn’t want to be his stupid girlfriend. She’d been perfectly fine with the way things were and she had no intention of changing a thing. He’d drawn his line in the sand, well, she could do that too.

  
Who did he think he was, holding her hostage like this… Agree to my terms or it’s over. Fuck that shit. She didn’t need him for sex. She could go out, find someone easily enough. She didn’t need Remy LeBeau to scratch an itch for her now that it no longer suited him… Bastard.

  
Goddamn self-righteous son of a bitch. She walked over to his bed and sat down, grabbing one of his pillows and beating it mercilessly. He’d made her care, made her believe everything would be all right and then he just left with the ‘I wanna be friends’ line.  She should cut his balls off and feed them too him…

  
Her hands were wet, her cheeks were wet, the pillow was wet… Why was she fucking crying? She wanted to rage, to stalk around his goddamn perfect room and throw things, break things until it was as fucked up as she was. But she didn’t. She didn’t shred his books or damage the pretty art work on the walls. She curled up on his bed and sobbed.  
It wasn’t fair. Couldn’t he see that she was scared and confused? Why had he left when she’d needed him to stay? To hold her… To help her…

  
When had she come to need him? The thought quieted her sobs, though her tears weren’t ready to be stemmed. When had she started caring for him so much that the thought of losing him could break her heart? She’d known that she liked him, that she enjoyed him, but how had it become more without her noticing?

  
She’d felt heart break before when she’d been betrayed. This was nothing like that. Somehow this was worse. To see him every day but never be able to touch him beyond what she managed in class… To never be able to kiss him again… Could she go back to that? Could she stand to lose the companionship she’d found with him, to face all those empty nights in her own bed when he was here? When he could keep her nightmares away…

  
He said he wanted to be with her. That gave her hope that he would be reasonable, that he wouldn’t just turn her away. She could handle not having sex with him but to just be a student to him again? She didn’t think she could bear that.

  
Was she the one being unfair? She was panicking surely, but did that make her wants unreasonable? Was it wrong to want to keep their relationship to themselves?

Relationship? She rolled onto her back and pulled the pillow over her face with a groan. That word… That word hadn’t used to be in her vocabulary. It was all Erika’s fault…  
‘You shouldn’t deny yourself something good simply because you’re afraid.’ The sentiment in her friend’s annoyingly perfect voice fluttered around in her head. She was afraid, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. She was terrified, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was she was scared of.

  
Not Remy. She could never be afraid of Remy. She didn’t want to lose him. When she’d thought he was going to end it over Scott she’d been scared and hurting then too, but he’d assured her that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t leave because of Scott, but because she wanted to keep their private lives private?

  
‘You’re not only actin’ like you’re easy, you’re actin’ like he is.’ Logan… All her friends were making an appearance during her moment of crisis… Remy wasn’t easy, she’d always known that, though she often used it as an excuse to keep him at arm’s length. He wasn’t, and neither was she, but that didn’t mean she was ready for the relationship deal.

  
Sex, but not a relationship… Damn if she wasn’t screwed up. That didn’t make things any more comfortable for her. The thought of being anyone’s girl made her want to cringe. It was like saying she belonged to someone and she definitely didn’t. She liked Remy, a lot, but she didn’t know that she wanted to belong to him.

  
She belonged to herself. That was the way she liked it. She could do what she wanted, when she wanted, without having to answer to anyone or explain things. Her freedom was all she wanted, but there he was with the leash… She didn’t try to leash him. She hadn’t told him that he had to report his every move to her or stupid things like that. He was free to do what he wanted, just like she was.

  
What if what he wanted was another woman, a little voice in her head asked. What if when he went on those missions of his, he found someone to spend the night with?

  
That was his business, she tried to tell herself. She didn’t own him. They hadn’t discussed exclusivity… She shouldn’t have any right to expect it- With a small growl she lunged into a sitting position and threw the pillow. Discussion be damned, he was sleeping with her and that meant he was only sleeping with her or she would most definitely cut his balls off…

  
She rose to pace, jerking at her hair in frustration. The violent thoughts didn’t worry her, her thoughts normally headed toward violent, but they were flustered and confused. How could she figure things out if she couldn’t think straight? All of this was messing her up worse than she already was. She should take a breath, step back, and take a few days to figure things out. Right? Right…

  
If he was going to be stubborn, well she could do that too. She left his room, intending to go to her own. A little time, a little space, and they would be fine again. He’d see that he was being unreasonable. But what if he didn’t? What if he assumed her silence meant she’d made up her mind and he moved on to the next person while she was thinking?  
Like hell he would! Before she’d even consciously decided to go, her feet were already carrying her down the stairs. If he thought he could just push her aside and go on to the next woman that caught his eye… She’d show him…

  
She stepped into the dining room, all set to give him a piece of her mind right there in front of everyone. It only pissed her off more that it was Logan that saw her first and he smiled. He smiled! Bastard, she thought, willing to let her anger spill over onto anything male. Smile in that smug, knowing kind of way while she was pissed to her boiling point…

  
She’d let them both have it, and Scott right along with them.

  
All ready to unleash her fury on the room at large, Remy followed Logan’s gaze and when he saw her, his eyes lit up. Her anger vanished like a wisp of smoke in a storm. He seemed so happy to see her… She was so mad at him, and there he was smiling at her like it was his birthday and she was what he’d wished for.

  
Her body took advantage of the effects of that thousand watt smile that left her scatterbrained and she found herself on his lap, her mouth fused to his.

  
She could feel his surprise, mingling strongly with her own, but when his arms came around her she couldn’t care. Her hands found their way into his hair and she held on to him, her kiss apologetic and needy at the same time. She wanted to be with him too and what better way to show him that than to throw herself headlong into it?

  
She was kissing him in front of the team… Oh God what was she doing? She ended it as abruptly as she’d started it, and dropped her head against his shoulder. Her cheeks burned painfully and she could only imagine what they others were thinking…

  
A little afraid of the repercussions, she wrapped her arms around him and though she preferred to think of it as holding him, she cowered against him, waiting on their reactions.

  
“About damn time,” Logan grunted, “pass me the platter Gumbo. Someone skimped on the meat when they made mine.”

  
Flashing him a grin, Remy handed him the plate of pork chops and nuzzled at Bronwyn’s hair. “Saved ya a seat.” He said, moving her back a little so he could see her. He parted her hair and brushed his fingers over her cheek, “better getcha a plate ‘fore Logan eats it all.”

  
“Indeed,” Storm chuckled, “and I’m sure it would be more comfortable in a chair.”

  
While Logan grumbled about them making fun of him, Bronwyn shifted from Remy’s lap into the chair next to his. He’d saved her a seat… Had he been that sure she’d come, or had he just hoped? She glanced over at him, her blush returning when he caught her and smiled back at her.

  
Quickly she put food on her plate, paying a little attention to the conversation happening around the table. Other than Scott’s face being a little purple, everything seemed so normal… Well, Rogue looked a little shocked, and a little pissed but other than that…

  
In response to the glare she was getting from that end of the table, Bronwyn lifted her chin and took Remy’s hand under the table. She was with Remy now. Rogue would just have to get used to it. And so would she.


End file.
